HTLJ: Best Served Cold
by Arianna18
Summary: Last Episode of the Rainbow arc: Andros plots his revenge against Hercules and Iolaus


Although the night was warm, with only the slightest, most gentle of breezes bringing the scent of the sea and the nightblooming nicosia, Niobe stood like a wraithe in her silk, floating gown of white, her arms crossed tight against her body, as if to ward off the cold...but the chill was from inside, from the depths of her soul. Sightlessly, she gazed into the soft night, unconscious of the bitter tears on her cheeks, torn by grief and gratitude for those poor lost souls who had sacrificed themselves to protect the life of her son. They had paid the price of the peace she had fought for and maintained against all odds for the last eight years...the peace had cost them the chance to hone warrior skills, had cost them their lives. Silently, she asked their forgiveness and blessed their souls, praying to Hades to grant them eternal peace in Elysium.

The League of Peace which had seemed all to the good, so desirable, was now a trap, leaving her realm helpless before whatever vengence the Romans could concoct. She had courage, and would face them, if they came...but, standing here alone in the night, she knew she could not protect her son...could not risk his life further through a peace she had sustained for his sake, that his life might not be at risk during the endless conflicts which plagued the other city states of Greece. She shuddered unconsciously as she recalled what the others had told her of their battle, and of Iolaus' torture on the cross...all because her boundaries had been so easily broached, her own child, and the son of one of her closest friends, stolen away in broad daylight. Gods, how could it have gone so terribly wrong?

And, now, Orestes knew Iolaus was his father. At first, when she had learned Orrie had learned the truth, she had been disconcerted, frightened by the new dangers which could threaten her son if the world knew of his parentage...as if he didn't already have to face enough, as a Crown Prince in Greece. But, for now, she was reassured that the knowledge was still held within the family and their closest confidantes. Sighing, she thought to herself that it was right that Orrie should know the truth about Iolaus, a man whom he had always loved, and this new knowledge could only make her son happy. Niobe had also seen the quiet joy in Iolaus' own eyes, that he now no longer needed to lie to his son. In all of this horror, this drawing together of father and son was a brightness which made what she must do marginally easier for herself... and would make it _much_ easier for Orrie.

She stood straighter, brushed the wetness from her face unconsciously, still not fully aware she had been crying. If she could not protect her son, she had to make other arrangements. Though it would tear her apart, take away the bright joy of her life, she had decided. She would send Orestes away, to a place where he could be protected...away from the peace to a place which had known conflict as a way of being, where warriors had the skills to protect the vulnerable. A bitter lesson, to realize that to have peace one must be ever vigilant, ever prepared for war.

Turning from her balcony, Niobe pushed aside the sheer, voluminous curtains which graced the portal, and reentered the dim coolness of her candlelit chamber. She must act now, share her decision, before she weakened. Sending Orrie away was the hardest thing she would ever do in her life, and she feared she would hesitate if she waited for the dawn, would find an excuse to wait, to reconsider. Opening the door which gave onto the hall, Niobe called to the servant who slept by the door to go to Iolaus, to ask him to come to her now.

Startled, the servant hid her surprise, and her speculation, and scuttled down the darkened hallway. Niobe closed the door, turned to pour a goblet of unwatered wine, and drawing a robe over her shoulders, she tried to draw an air of resolution and majesty, of calm, around her as well. She might better have tried to capture and hold the fragrance of the nicosia in her hand.

It seemed only moments later, when there came a soft rap on her door, then it opened and Iolaus entered. He'd obviously been sleeping, his hair tousled, a robe thrown hastily around his nakedness, alarm in his eyes, wondering what might be so important that Niobe needed to summon him in the middle of the night. For a moment, she was sorry to have disturbed him. He had to be exhausted from the journey, from all that he had suffered for his son's sake. But, she shook off her regret, knowing she needed to do this...knowing she needed his strength to steel her resolution.

Coming to her, Iolaus held out a hand, asking softly, "What is it, Niobe? What's wrong?" Iolaus had seen the vestiges of the tears, saw the pale, bloodless face, the too wide eyes....the slight tremble in her hand as she held out the goblet of wine to him.

"I'm sorry, Iolaus, to have disturbed you....but, I....there's something I need to discuss with you."

Puzzled, concerned, Iolaus took the wine, then guided her to a chair, gently forcing her into it, afraid she might be about to faint. He knelt beside her, put the wine into her hand. "Niobe, you look like you've seen a ghost...here, drink this...then tell me what's bothering you."

Gratefully, she took a sip to moisten her dry throat. But, she was unable to relax back into the chair. Sitting rigidly, looking down into his eyes, she explained her fears....and made her request. "Iolaus, I...I've come to realize that Attica is not a safe place, for all the peace we have enjoyed here....and, I'm afraid the Romans may come back for Orestes. If they do, I will not be able to stop them from taking him again." She paused and swallowed, the very idea of again losing her son to their so-called allies catching at her heart.

Iolaus wanted to reassure her, but couldn't. He knew only too well that she was right in her judgment. He waited, not rushing her, letting her take her time.

She looked away from his gaze, again unconsciously stiffening her back, straightening her shoulders, trying desperately to set aside her grief, the guilt she felt for the men who had died, and her immeasurable sadness at what she must do. "I want you to take him to Corinth....I will send a note, asking Iphicles to take Orrie as his ward. Please, Iolaus, he will be safer there...and, I will know he will be safe, with you and with the security of Iphicles' warrior guard." They both knew Iolaus alone could not ensure Orrie's safety...his own life was too often at risk to be a guarantor for his son. Iphicles' agreement to share responsibility for Orrie's wellbeing was necessary.

Iolaus was taken aback at this completely unexpected request. He looked away for a moment, his surprise written plainly on his face. Surprise gave way to a look of wonder...he'd be taking Orrie home with him...he could hardly grasp it. Sighing, not looking at her, he bowed his head, his heart full beyond words. "Thank you," he whispered, "for choosing Corinth...."

He felt her hand brush his curls, her voice as she responded as softly, "Where else, but with his father...if he cannot be with me, Orrie should be with you."

Iolaus heard the strain in her voice, and the look of grateful wonder gave way to a sad compassion as he looked again back up at Niobe, realizing the cost of this decision, the pain she must be suffering in having to make it. He took the goblet from her hand, setting it on the floor, then held her hand between both of his as he replied, earnestly, "You know I will always do all I can to protect Orrie...and, while I wish I could tell you this is not necessary, you're right...you cannot keep him safe here...and no one can predict what the Romans might do. I know Iph will gladly offer him a home in his palace....I'm sorry, Niobe.....I know how hard this is for you."

Niobe wanted to be Queen, wanted to remain strong, even cold...but, the mother intervened. Iolaus' confirmation of her own assessment of Attica's vulnerability sealed her decision, made it irrevocable. Unwanted tears burned her eyes, and her lips trembled against the sob in her throat. Iolaus gathered her into his arms, holding her tightly, letting her weep against his shoulder. "Oh gods, Iolaus, I never thought the peace would ever cost this much...so many dead....and....and I can't bear losing him, but I can't keep him...." she whispered, heartbroken.

"I know, love," he murmured back, stroking her back as he would comfort a hurt child. "I know..."

Gradually, her sobs quietened, and, embarrassed by her weakness, she pulled a little away from him, but he would not let her completely go. Keeping her lightly within his embrace, Iolaus gazed into her eyes. "Niobe, I know it hurts....but, you could not do this if you didn't love him so much...or if you had less courage and strength."

She laughed a little at that, a brittle, almost harsh sound. "Courage? Strength? No, Iolaus, fear...and an awareness of my weakness...."

Iolaus shook his head as he released her, moving a little away. "No...courage...to do what's right, regardless of the cost. I've never known anyone with more strength than you...anyone with a clearer vision of what must be done, what needs to be done...and the strength of will to do it, against all odds." He smiled softly as he continued, "It's how you created and sustained the League of Peace...and it was the right thing to do, Niobe, even though it's left you vulnerable....At times like this, you remind me of Hercules." Finally, to reassure her, he added, "And, Orrie won't be gone forever...nor will he be so far away that you will not be able to see him often."

Bowing her head, brushing the tears from her face, she sniffed, nodded. She was so tired, exhausted by all that had happened, unable to contemplate the dawn, when she must act on her decision, when she must tell Orrie he was leaving...at least for a while.

Iolaus stood, not wanting to leave her when she seemed so lost, so vulnerable, but not wanting to intrude upon the privacy of her thoughts. He had turned to leave, when she stood, held out a hand, almost unwillingly, but with a tremble of desperation. "Please, Iolaus," she murmured softly, "please...I don't want to be alone tonight....I don't think I can face the darkness....please stay."

Iolaus paused a moment before turning back to face her. "Alright...but, you need to try to sleep...tomorrow will be a long day." He took her hand, led her to the bed and settled her upon it, then turned aside, intending to spend the night in the chair, when her fingers brushed his arm, staying him. "Iolaus...I...."

He turned back, a look of infinite gentleness and understanding in his eyes. Sometimes even the strongest queen just needs someone to hold her, someone she can trust enough to allow a measure of comfort and support. Lying down beside her, Iolaus cradled her in his arms. Softly stroking her hair, he whispered, "It's alright, Niobe...I'm here....go to sleep, love....it will be alright."

Laying there, holding her in his arms, Iolaus could not help remembering how it had once been between them, a part of him wishing they could recapture what they'd had, knowing it was impossible for so many different reasons. As she gradually dozed off, he tried to focus upon her, upon her needs, her pain...but a part of him was rejoicing. _Orrie was coming home with him!_ For the first time since he had learned of Orrie's existance, Iolaus would not be separated from his son.

Outside the door, the servant waited, but as the time dragged on, she realized the guest was not leaving. She was surprised...the Queen had entertained no man in her personal chambers since the King had died years ago. Still, perhaps it was not so surprising...they'd all noticed the man, Iolaus, was the very image of his deceased cousin. Laying down upon her pallet, the servant sent a quick prayer for the soul of the poor, brave King who had died to bring peace to his people.

* * *

They delayed their return to Corinth by a day, allowing Niobe to tell Orrie of her decision, and to give them time to prepare his belongings for the journey. They would not lose much time, since they would take the royal coach, and this would be a much faster return than if they had walked the distance as planned.

Nico was waiting for Orrie in the garden at the back of the Palace. Iolaus had told him and Hercules about Niobe's decision that morning, and, while Nico was excited to know Orrie was coming to live with them, he also remembered what it was like to leave everything you've ever known, leave your home, behind. When a subdued Orrie finally stepped out of the Palace into the midmorning sun, Nico watched him for a moment, trying to gauge his mood. Orrie looked up and saw his friend standing there, waiting for him, and didn't know what to do or say, didn't really even know how he felt. It was all mixed up inside. Part of him was sad...and scared...at the thought of leaving his mother. He'd just gotten back from the most terrible experience of his life, and now he felt as if he was being cast adrift. Another part of him was excited about the idea of going to Corinth, of being with his father...with Nico and Hercules. He loved them, too, he really did. It was all just so confusing.

Nico read the bewilderment in Orrie's troubled eyes, and could see Orrie was in a kind of shock. So much had happened to him so suddenly...too much, too fast. His natural air of exuberance was muted, his face white and drawn...he stood almost as if he was lost on the edge of his own garden. Nico moved to stand in front of his friend, wondering what he should do or say to make it easier. When Orrie looked up at him, with uncertainty in his eyes, Nico simply pulled the small boy against him, held him tightly in a hug. At first, Orrie resisted, his muscles tense, then, with a kind of sigh, he settled against the taller boy.

"I'm scared," Orrie confessed softly. There was no one in the world besides Nico to whom he could freely admit this...but he and Nico had been through so much, Orrie felt he could tell Nico anything.

"I know," responded Nico, "I was scared too, the first time I had to leave home on my own. But...Orrie, you won't ever be alone...you'll be with us, me and Iolaus and my Dad. It will be alright...I promise."

Orrie sighed, then pulled away, gazing up with trusting eyes. "What's it like in Corinth, Nico....will...will King Iphicles...want me?"

Nico grinned...of this he could be absolutely certain. "Oh yeah, Orrie, Uncle Iphicles likes kids...he'll be really glad to have you come and live with us."

Orrie nodded, somewhat reassured...if Nico said it, then it would be true. Nico never knowingly lied to him. "My Mom's sad...she's trying not to show it, but I can tell."

Nico nodded sagely, "Of course she's sad...but, she knows this is the best thing, at least for now...and you'll see her often...it's not like...." but Nico stopped himself. He'd been about to say, _'it's not like she's dead'_, but Orrie did not need to think about such a profound and permanent separation...it would only scare him. Nico looked away for a moment, remembering how it had been when his mother and brothers had died...and how he had had to bury them himself, when he was only a little older than Orrie was now. How he had had to find his own way to the village...had to find his own way to survive. Pushing away his memories, he looked back down at his friend, a reassuring smile on his lips. "Do you want help getting ready to go...to pack or anything?"

Orrie looked around the garden for a minute, then nodded. "I guess...you could help me decide what to take," he said as he turned and the two boys went back into the palace.

* * *

Iolaus and Hercules had been watching the exchange from a window embrasure above the garden.

"He looks so lost, Herc...are we doing the right thing?"

Hercules looped a comforting arm around Iolaus' shoulders, gave him a reassuring squeeze. "Yes, Iolaus...you know it's the best solution. The Romans may never come back here, but, if they did, you'd lose Orrie again, and we might not be able to get him back the next time." He felt Iolaus shudder at the thought, noticed his friend rubbing his wrist absently. "Is your arm bothering you, Iolaus?" Herc asked...he'd noticed Iolaus doing this to one wrist, and then the other, off and on since they'd returned to Attica.

"Hmm? What? My arm? No...." Iolaus seemed unaware of his unconscious behaviour...or, at least, he wasn't ready to acknowledge it. Herc frowned slightly, worried about his friend. There were things they needed to talk about...specifically Iolaus' willingness to just give up after he'd realized the extent of his injuries after Hercules had taken him down from the cross. But, Herc wasn't sure this was the time. Iolaus was too preoccupied with Orrie, and Niobe's reaction to sending her son away.

"So...how do you feel, Iolaus, about Orrie coming with us?" Herc enquired, fairly sure he knew the answer.

A smile lit Iolaus's face and his blue eyes were dancing as he gazed up at his lifelong friend, knowing Hercules was just trying to get him to focus on the good news about what was happening. "You know how I feel, Herc...just like you felt when you learned Nico was your son. I worry about being good enough for him, and whether I can take good care of him, protect him....But, mostly, I feel like laughing and dancing and singing... but, I can't...not yet...not when Niobe is so hurt by all that's happened...that's happening. Hercules, I can't believe I'll get to be with him everyday...teach him things, watch him grow and learn. Gods, Herc, I never thought I'd _ever_ get this chance!"

Hercules cocked an amused eyebrow at his friend. "So, you are a bit worried about being a full time father again? We both know it's a lot of responsibility...it's not all fun and games."

Iolaus chuckled in response as he turned away from the window, leaning back against it's sill, his arms crossed over his chest. "Really? Well, given your much greater experience as a parent, I guess I'll just have to watch you...and learn how to be a great dad."

Hercules laughed gently in return. "Uh huh...let's just say we'll learn together." Herc paused a moment, thinking about his lost family, about all the things he would have done differently, given the chance. "Nico's different than my other kids were. He's...lived through so much. Sometimes, he acts as old as the hills...and other times, he's just a kid...well, you know that...you know him as well as I do. Frankly, Iolaus, given all the years he had to survive on the streets, I think you probably understand him a lot better than I do. I'm never quite sure I'm giving him what he needs....."

It was Iolaus' turn to look thoughtfully up at his friend, a little surprised by Herc's confession of uncertainty. Smiling, he clapped Hercules on the shoulder, "Just love him, Herc...that's what he needs most of all...it's all anyone really needs, when you get right down to it...but Nico especially. He likes to act tough and all grown up, but he's been alone for so much of his life...and this last escapade must have scared him, too, even though he hasn't said much about it. He needs to know he's safe...needs to know it's not all going to disappear on him."

Herc nodded. "Yeah, you're right...it's just that he's so selfpossessed, his emotions so contained, controlled...."

Iolaus hid a grin as he watched his friend worry about his selfcontained son...realizing that Hercules did not recognise himself in Nico, did not recognise the same tendency toward controlling emotions, toward projecting that same sense of being able to handle whatever came at him. "Wonder who he takes after?" Iolaus teased his friend gently, his face all innocence. There was no question, Nico took after his father.

Unaware of Iolaus' gentle amusement, Herc shrugged, thinking about what Iolaus had said, and decided not to worry about it...one thing he knew he could do without effort was love the boy, unconditionally, boundlessly. Sighing, he looked around the quiet hallway...the day stretching out in front of them. "So, what do you say...should we go see if the boys need any help with the packing?"

Iolaus snorted. "There're probably twenty servants and a Queen giving them all the help they need. Let's just go for a walk, get some air...we're going to be cooped up in that coach all day tomorrow!"

Herc chuckled as he led the way down the corridor, heading out of the Palace. They would all have to make adjustments, but, it would be alright...it was a second chance for both of them, to have children to love...and he knew Iolaus felt the same sense of wonder and amazement at having such an unexpected opportunity...and the same sense of gratitude that the Fates had finally been kind.

* * *

While the preparations went on in Attica, for the transfer of one small prince from one home to another, the Tribune, Andros, and his men, arrived back in Corinth. Andros was not looking forward to reporting to the Roman Governor, but knew there was no point in putting off the inevitable. Directing his men back to their barracks, he continued on to the Governor's residence...and did not have to wait long before being shown into the man's presence.

The Governor regarded him with surprise. "I didn't expect you back so soon...and, from the look of you, you haven't brought good news."

Andros saluted the Governor, stood at formal attention, and gave a slight shake of his head. "No sir, regrettably, I must report the failure of my mission."

The Governor listened as Andros related the sorry tale. Frowning, the Governor was not pleased to learn the Tribune had involved another child, Orestes, the Crown Prince of Attica. This could complicate an already delicate diplomatic situation in Greece. It would have been fine if he had held onto the children, but to have had them in his custody and then to have lost them back to the Greeks meant they had no means of muting the anger Iphicles, and now Niobe, were bound to feel about the arbitrary action of the Romans.

When Andros had fallen silent, the Governor pulled at his ear as he thought about how to handle the situation now. Finally, he looked back up at the silent Tribune. "Well, this is a sorry mess. I don't see any way out of it but to deny any personal knowledge of your actions. Once Iphicles learns of what has occurred, he will demand your removal from Corinth. You'd best get ready for a transfer."

Andros kept his expression bland. This was really no surprise. Still, it was galling to be left holding the full responsibility for the mission, especially given it had been the Governor's idea. Such was the price of failure. Noting the Governor's nod of dismissal, he saluted and turned to the door, only to be called back briefly.

"Andros, you may have failed to hold onto the children...but, I am well pleased that you were able to deal with that traitor, Iolaus. For that, you have earned the right to request your next posting, rather than simply be deployed to some further outpost of the Empire. Do you have a preference?"

A gleam of satisfaction in his eyes as he remembered crucifying the traitor, Andros thought a moment, thought about how much he still wanted revenge on the royal family of Corinth for having thwarted him at every step. A cold smile played at his lips as he responded, "Sparta...I would like to go to Sparta."

The Governor gazed at him silently, wondering why the man would choose such a godsforsaken place as Sparta...and then, he knew. Nodding, he picked up a pen, reached for a fresh scroll of parchment. "You shall have your wish...I will write now to the Governor there, recommending you to him.... Be ready to leave within the week..." Andros nodded, then left the room.

* * *

The coach ride from Attica was long, but uneventful. Orrie had been subdued after having bid his mother farewell, each of them careful to pretend cheerfulness, to hide their sorrow at being separated. Gods, sometimes he hated being a Prince, having always to pretend, to play a role for the multitudes who always seemed to be watching. However, as the miles passed, he became more animated, watching the world go by from the coach window, jostling and joking with Nico, becoming caught up in the description of the games, activities and lessons he would be included in with the tutor he would share with Nico. When they became bored, Iolaus regaled them with the ancient legends of Greece and boyhood adventures he and Hercules had shared (both of which seemed equally remote, but no less interesting, to the boys).

As the day passed, Hercules noticed Iolaus again unconsciously kneading his wrists and hands...it wasn't a constant activity, but seemed to happen when Iolaus was distracted, not fully engaged with the others. Herc resolved that, once they got the boys settled in Corinth, he and Iolaus would need to talk. He just wasn't sure how he would get started....sighing, he looked out of the coach window at the distant hills. He wondered if he would ever be able to just jump in and talk about sensitive issues. He doubted it... somehow, the reticence seemed too much a part of his nature. But he also knew himself well enough to know if he didn't talk about what was bothering him, he'd just get irritable. So, tonight or tomorrow, he'd find a quiet place where they could yell at each other without worrying about others hearing or intervening. Somehow, these kinds of conversations inevitably led to yelling before they found some resolution...maybe that's why he tended to put them off....or, maybe because he put them off, his irritation level was such that yelling became pretty much unavoidable. Impatient with himself, he shook off his preoccupations and turned back to engage in the teasing going on amongst the others.

Iolaus was not unaware of Herc's concern...he'd caught his friend gazing at him with worry deep in his eyes, before they shuttered and Herc looked away. Iolaus knew Hercules was working himself up to a discussion of something which was bothering him...and Iolaus had a good idea of what it was...but, he really didn't want to talk about it. Hercules had been afraid for him, afraid he would die from the horrific injuries inflicted by the Romans...but, more, Herc was deeply angry...because Iolaus hadn't wanted to live, had, in fact, hoped to die. Whenever Iolaus thought about how close he had come to losing his hands and feet, to losing the life he had known only to become a burden on those he loved, he felt physically ill...and found himself unconsciously rubbing his wrists and hands, kneading at invisible scars. He wished Herc would just let it go...was in fact irritated by his friend's need to drag it all back, resolve it somehow. Iolaus just wanted to bury it, move on, try to forget it so that the nightmares would end. He'd been unable to sleep without reliving it every night...he didn't want to face it in the daylight hours, too.

Finally, late in the evening, the coach rolled into Corinth. The streets, as always, were busy with late merchants and vendors hawking their wares, the scent of roasting meats on the braziers in the food stalls filling the air, music and laughter pouring out of the numerous taverns, children still up, racing through the streets, shouting at one another in their games, women chatting quietly outside their homes, the day's work finally done. Young people strolled along the narrow streets and older folk ambled or strode to one appointment or another, depending on their personal sense of dignity and the importance they attached to getting where they were going.

One such person was the Roman Governor, who had just left a late meeting. He noted the royal insignia of Attica on the coach and watched it pass, knowing that its arrival meant there would be a confrontation with King Iphicles in the morning. As it went by, he caught a glimpse of unruly, golden curls, heard the man laugh...and felt as if the world had shifted beneath his feet. It was the traitor. Iolaus. How was it possible? Had the Tribune lied to him about crucifying the man? No...no...the Tribune had gloated over his victory in capturing and comdemning this man. By the gods....how could he be here now, apparently unharmed? The Governor shivered despite the sticky warmth of the evening. There was something _unnatura_l about this...about the man, Iolaus.

Hastening back to his residence, the Governor sent for the Tribune, Andros. When the soldier arrived, the Governor brusquely handed him his travelling warrant, and the letter of introduction to his colleague, the Governor in Sparta.

"You must leave now, tonight. Hercules has arrived back in Corinth, and it appears he may also have Niobe's brat with him. And, Andros...he was not alone. The traitor, Iolaus, was with him...alive...and well."

Andros' face blanched. "No...that's not possible. I had him nailed to a cross...even if Hercules had been able to save his life, the wounds would have required amputation. He could not be travelling...there is no way he could be _'well'_."

"I tell you, I saw him, tonight, in the royal coach from Attica. He was laughing...and he seemed perfectly healthy to me."

Andros felt a black rage curl like a snake within him, almost choking him with it's intensity. The traitor was supposed to be _dead_...and here he was instead, mocking Andros by his very existance. It was humiliating and infuriating, all at the same time. Andros vowed within the tumult of his soul, he would kill Iolaus, utterly destroy him, regardless of risk or cost. The traitor was at the root of each failure, was responsible for destroying a perfect career...and he would pay with his life. Andros pushed back the rage, but he revelled in the hatred which bloomed in his heart, hatred which would grow until it was all consuming, the single obsession which would drive Andros' every action.

Gripping the papers the Governor had handed to him tightly in his fist, he said simply with a voice as brittle and hard as ice, "I will deal with him," then saluted and left the Governor's presence.

Andros returned to his barracks to collect his gear and weaponry, then headed to the stables where he had soon saddled his mount. Riding out of Corinth, he looked once up at the Palace, picturing his enemy within, vowing anew to not rest until he had won his vengeance over the peasant leader of the revolt against Rome...and against his friends in the Corinthian royal family.

As Andros rode south into the night, he pondered the mystery of Iolaus' evident full recovery from the damage inflicted upon him in Italy. There could be no doubt, the gods were at work here...the question Andros wrestled with was, which one? All the Romans knew, the Greeks called Jupiter Zeus...and Hercules was said to be Zeus' son. Perhaps that was the answer...perhaps the traitor's life was a gift either to the demigod by another god, or, it may even be possible that Hercules himself had the power to heal terrible wounds. Andros decided this was the more likely answer. Neither the Roman gods, nor the Greek gods of different names, but of the same powers, cared about any mortal enough to stir themselves to save one from a life of suffering. It had to be that Hercules, himself, had the power to restore the man purported to be his best, lifelong friend. Which meant, Andros had to be certain to kill Hercules, as well as Iolaus...or his efforts toward revenge would again be in vain.

Which left a final question...how did one kill a demigod?

* * *

Iphicles had been surprised to see the royal coach of Attica in the courtyard of his palace...and more surprised still to read the note from Niobe, which the driver had handed to him, requesting him to accept young Prince Orestes as his ward. Hercules, seeing the puzzlement in his brother's eyes, murmured, "We'll explain later," as he and Iolaus helped the coachman unload Orrie's trunks from the back and roof of the coach.

Iphicles nodded and turned to greet the Crown Prince of Attica, assuring the boy of a warm welcome in his new home. Orrie relaxed visibly at the kindness in the King's tone and eyes...Nico had been right, King Iphicles seemed content to accept this unexpected child from another City State. Nico took charge of Orrie, drawing him into the palace, to show him around before taking him to the room they would share. Even though it was late, Hercules and Iolaus let them wander the corridors, knowing the boys were too excited to sleep and that it would help Orrie to get his bearings, to feel more at home in the palace.

Hercules and Iolaus followed Iphicles to his private quarters. They each accepted a goblet of wine, settled in their usual chairs before a bright fire, and then told Iphicles all that had happened since they had left to take the draft treaty with the Romans to Niobe for her consideration and signature.

"WHAT?" stormed Iphicles, appalled and immensely angry, when he heard about the kidnapping. "Damn their Roman souls! Just wait until I see that Governor again," he seethed.

"There's more," Herc told him, and then recounted the story of Iolaus' ordeal.

Iphicles listened in horrified silence, gazing at Iolaus with pain and compassion reflected in his eyes. "By the gods, Iolaus," he murmured, standing to move beside Iolaus' chair, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder, "are you alright?"

Iolaus had been staring into the fire while Hercules had told the story...or at least some of it. Hercules had refrained from sharing the depth of desolation and hopelessness Iolaus had felt, had remained silent about Iolaus' decision to let his life slip away. Shrugging nonchalantly in response to Iphicles' question, Iolaus held up his hands, "Good as new...not even any scars, thanks to Zeus."

Iphicles wasn't to be put off. "No physical scars maybe...but...."

Iolaus sighed, cutting him off. Raising his eyes to Iphicles, Iolaus returned the concerned gaze with gratitude, "Thanks, Iph," he said more quietly, "I appreciate your concern...I'll be alright...it just takes a little time....." Then, in an effort to change the subject, Iolaus turned the discussion to Orrie's future. "Iph, I'm worried about Orrie...Niobe doesn't have the resources to protect him if the Romans decide to try again. I'm grateful that you seem willing to take on the responsibility of accepting him as your ward."

Iphicles shook his head, not wanting gratitude, "Iolaus, I'm honoured to have the boy here...and it will be good for relations between our regions as well."

Iolaus nodded, swallowed, decided to continue. "Iph...there's something you need to know...but, I ask that you keep this confidential, for Orrie's sake." Iolaus glanced at Hercules, who nodded encouragement. Iph saw the glance between the two and wondered what was coming. "Iph...Orrie is my son...but, no one can know...it would place him in too great a danger."

Iph just stared at Iolaus for a moment, taking it in. Then, he turned to pick up his goblet, taking a long swig of the unwatered wine. Setting the goblet carefully back down on the side table by his chair, he sat, then turned his gaze back to Iolaus, studying him for a long moment, an odd reflective look in his eyes. Nico was in as great a danger, as the son of Hercules, as Orrie would be if it was known he was the son of Iolaus. But, Iphicles could understand Iolaus' caution. Clearly, his friend was afraid his own capacity to protect his child would be insufficient...there would be no gods looking out for the wellbeing of his son.

"Well," he said finally, "the two of you are never short of surprises."

Iolaus and Hercules watched Iphicles closely, not sure how to read his expression...both relaxing visibly when a smile broke out across the King's face. "Someday, Iolaus, you'll have to explain all this to me...I'm sure it's a good story! But, for now, let me just say that it's more than an honour to have Orrie here...I am delighted to foster him...to have the world consider him my ward, if that is the way you want it to be...he's family....and, should I say 'congratulations'? It's not every day that I hear news as good as this!"

Iphicles was genuinely happy for Iolaus. Though he'd never said it, in deference to Iolaus' quite clear desire to never speak about the tragic loss of his family, Iphicles had longed believed that Iolaus, a man with such natural warmth and love of children, should have one or more of his own.

Iolaus grinned at Iphicles, feeling absurdly pleased by the man's honest happiness at the news. "Thanks, Iph...I really appreciate this...."

"No thanks are needed, Iolaus...you would do the same for me in my place."

Iolaus nodded, sighed, realized that he was on the edge of exhaustion...he'd not been sleeping all that well...he hoped the nightmares would soon fade. Glancing at Hercules, seeing the shadows of concern there, Iolaus decided he didn't want to deal with anything else tonight.

Iolaus said quietly, rolling his shoulders, which had stiffened in his anxiety about telling Iphicles the truth about Orrie, "I'm really tired...if you'll excuse me, I think I'll head off to bed...Herc, maybe you could explain to Iph how it is that I have suddenly become a father!" Grinning, he gave them a wave, then headed off to his chamber.

The brothers wished him a good night, then sat in silence for awhile. Finally, Iphicles stood to refill their goblets...he had a feeling this would be a long story. Settling back in his chair, Iphicles grinned at his brother, "So, Hercules...I guess it's up to you to tell me the facts of life!"

Hercules chuckled, then began the tale. They talked well into the night. However, before Iphicles retired, he left word that he wished to see the Roman Governor first thing in the morning, making it very clear he expected the Governor to come to him immediately upon receiving his message.

* * *

That night, the youth stretched out on the hard pallet in the barren room which had been assigned to him as his chamber when he'd arrived in Sparta five months ago. His hands cradling the back of his head as he stared up into the dark, he listened to the sound of the wind in the trees outside the narrow window embrasure cut into the stone wall of the private home. This was the official residence of King Leonides of Sparta, named for his famous ancestor who had died defying the Persians in the pass of Thermopylae...and, the youth was here as his ward, fostered into his care. Such a different residence from the warmth and comfort of the youth's home in Corinth. It had not been easy to adapt, not only to the austere living conditions, but to the strangeness of the Spartan culture itself.

Still, he was a Prince, the Crown Prince of Corinth, and Iolaus had not let on, either by word or expression, how uncomfortable he found the existance in Sparta to be. He had fallen into the stoic manner of his hosts, and only now were some beginning to suspect the wicked sense of humour which lurked within the dark, intelligent eyes. He knew why he was here...to build relationships, friendships which would become alliances as he grew older. He was here to end the centuries old rivalry and conflict between the two states. Iolaus sighed as he rolled onto his side, trying to find a comfortable position on the unforgiving wooden pallet, his shoulder scarcely padded by the thin, rough woolen sheet which lay over the wood. The Spartans believed in toughness of mind, body and spirit...a hard bed was good...it made the ground a more comfortable option for men who must be ever ready to take up arms for the honour of their City.

He'd come with an open mind, ready to learn what he could, ready to experience the differences and to accept them. Grinning to himself in the dark, he thanked the gods for the man who had taught him to take what life offered, gladly, seeking friendship amongst strangers, seeing the humour in everyday situations, being glad to simply to be aware, to be alive. He loved and respected his father, knew he was like him, with his long limbs, dark hair and eyes, olive complexion...his father and his famous grandfather by marriage, Jason, had taught him what it meant to be a Prince...how to behave, how to read the intentions of others, how to judge men and situations. He loved and was in awe of his uncle, Hercules...there was no one else like him in the world...a man with the strength of a hundred, who had taught him to resist the temptation to use strength where reason or compassion would lead to a more desired outcome...a man who was half god, yet valued his mortal half more.

But, the man who had made the most abiding impression upon young Iolaus was the man he had been named for...a man others could easily underestimate or overlook if they were impressed only by physical size and presence. The young Prince thought his uncle Iolaus was the bravest man he would ever know...a man who faced impossible odds, monsters and even gods, a mortal who fearlessly stood shoulder to shoulder with a demigod, to help others more vulnerable, regardless of the risks. But, his uncle did not intimidate him...quite the opposite. For all of his life, it was Iolaus who had played with his namesake, who had taught him how to appreciate the simple joys in the world around him, who never lost a childlike curiousity in his desire to learn and to experience whatever came...and who acted with integrity and valour, with unparalleled strength of spirit, in the face of evil. The Prince strove to be the kind of man his uncle was...strove to emulate the qualities of his personal hero. His uncle would be surprised to know the impact he'd had on the young Prince, and his namesake knew it...for all his exceptional qualities, and his tendency toward bravado, Prince Iolaus understood his uncle was an innately modest, even humble man, oddly vulnerable and selfeffacing. The young prince loved his uncle beyond all imagining, beyond the bounds of what words could express. He would do anything for him...anything.

Iolaus' thoughts drifted back to the Spartans. While there was much he had learned to respect about the Spartans...their discipline, their profound commitment to their gods, their City and their comrades, their undeniably superior warrior skills and knowledge, their love of family and simplicity...he had also found some of their training methods to be unnecessarily brutal. Older youths, and young men, in the cohorts ahead of their's, seemed to take unholy pleasure in mocking, taunting, disciplining and often mentally and physically abusing their younger colleagues...all in the name of teaching them strength, toughness and an awareness of their own limits and weaknesses. It was not uncommon for someone to be sentenced to a disciplinary whipping...the sole purpose of which seemed to be to humiliate the unfortunate soul into calling for mercy. Once, a particularly stubborn, unreasonably brave and noble youth, the best in his cohort in terms of physical prowess, had refused to concede, had refused to dishonour himself by asking for quarter...and he had died in the name of his personal code of honour. How a people could beat their own children to death, just to show them their limits, to teach them their vulnerabilities, was beyond Iolaus' comprehension or capacity for acceptance. Still, he was a guest here, he had come to learn, not to judge...but, what he learned left him profoundly disturbed at times. However, young Iolaus was careful not to let the horror he felt at some of what he considered to be a cruelly barbaric culture show to anyone.

Turning again onto his back, unable to sleep, Prince Iolaus thought back over the first days he had spent in Sparta, in their Academy. It was clear the others not only did not willingly accept him in their midst...they held him in a kind of contempt. Iolaus knew it wasn't personal...Spartans tended to think themselves better than others, and if they had a fatal flaw, it was their pride. Iolaus did not force himself into their midst. He performed his duties conscientiously, studied the work given him, and worked his muscles hard on the exercise track and in the drills of martial skills. He was quietly pleasant to everyone, careful not to act the role of Prince, but rather wore the mantle of student. Gradually, he had won many of them over and could count several in his cohort as friends. He knew his instructors approved of him...even if the signs of this approval were scarce indeed.

Iolaus sighed, trying to will himself to sleep. The days here were long and rigorous...it was not a land which forgave a mistake born of weariness, or a place where he could hope to find gentleness or compassion. He had taken care not to draw the venom of the older cadets...generally took care not to attract too much attention at all, lest they think him boastful, deserving of being taken down a peg or two. The only place where he allowed himself to routinely excel beyond the others was on the exercise track. He was a natural athlete, who found both joy and peace in racing like the wind. He had overheard the speculations that he could someday win in the games held in Olympia...and his young heart thrilled at the idea of wearing the laurel crown.

Still restless, he made himself breathe slowly and deeply, thought about how much he was looking forward to being with his family in another month's time when he would be able to go home for the Solstice break. He was looking forward to meeting his new cousin, Nico. The letters from his father had told him something of the lad not much younger than he was himself, how he had survived alone on the streets for years, how he had raced for help when Hercules had been trapped in a mine. It was clear from the letters that his father thought well of the boy, enjoyed seeing him become more relaxed, letting his natural exuberance show, as he came to accept his new life. Iolaus was intrigued by the boy's story, was eager to get to know him, to become friends. As Iolaus pictured the warmth of the Solstice celebration they planned to share as a family at his grandfather's Academy, he relaxed, and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Iphicles scowled at the Governor who knew full well why he had been so abruptly summoned to the King's presence, but he had schooled his face into an expression of bland attentiveness. Contrary to custom, Iphicles had not offered any refreshment, was not even showing the least courtesy. Without preamble, Iphicles launched into his grievance, his anger plain in his harsh voice and forbidding expression.

"Roman soldiers, led by your Tribune, Andros, kidnapped my nephew and a friend's son eleven days ago. Fortunately, the boys have been recovered...but I expect an explanation, and I expect it now."

The Governor allowed an expression of mystified surprise to cross his face. Fluttering his hands a little for effect, he prevaricated, "I'm very sorry, Your Majesty...but, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Really? Frankly, I find that hard to believe," Iphicles replied in a cold tone. He was certain the Governor was lying, despite his act of aggrieved innocence. Disgusted by the man who faced him across the conference table, Iphicles continued, "I will be writing the strongest protest to Rome, demanding your removal from this Province. I do not expect to ever see the Tribune in this City again...if I do, I will not be responsible for his safety."

The Governor continued with his act, "I assure you, King Iphicles, I truly do not know anything of this terrible undertaking. Andros disappeared two weeks ago....I had thought he had deserted. Certainly, I do not expect to ever see him again."

Iphicles' anger burned cold, but it burned. Certain that the Governor had been behind the plot, Iphicles wanted to whip him for what had been done to the boys...and to Iolaus. But, without proof, there was little more he could do. Waving his hand preemptorily in dismissal, Iphicles rose and silently stalked from the room. The Roman stared a brief moment at the empty space where the King had sat, then stood and quietly left the palace...all things considered, he thought the interview had gone reasonably well.

Back at his desk, in his private office, Iphicles suspected the Tribune had not deserted, but had been posted away from Corinth, to give credence to the Governor's lies. He didn't know where the Tribune had gone, nor did he care, so long as he never needed to see him again. Reaching for a sheet of parchment, dabbing his pen into the block of ink, Iphicles wrote his protest to Rome without much hope of a positive response ...and, sighing as he sealed the letter, he supposed one Roman Governor was likely to be much the same as another...none of them were to be trusted. The best strove to maintain peace and order, the worst to fill their personal coffers with wealth. On balance, he supposed the Governor he was required to deal with was better than some, worse than others. Still, the protest needed to be sent, if only to signal Rome that the leaders of this Roman province would not tolerate such treachery lightly...and would act against it. He didn't expect a response.

* * *

While Iphicles confronted the Roman Governor, and Nico and Orrie began their day with the tutor, Aristedes, Hercules and Iolaus left the palace to set out through the city to the hills beyond, ostensibly to do a little fishing. Iolaus had not been particularly surprised when Hercules had suggested the outing, realizing that Herc had finally decided the time had come for their discussion. Normally, nothing could override Iolaus' pleasure at the idea of a day spent by a river, idling fishing for their dinner, but, anticipating the difficult exchange which lay ahead, he was a reluctant companion at best. Herc could see the tension in Iolaus' body, knew his friend was aware of Herc's plan to talk about what had happened. The tension was not a good sign...Iolaus didn't want to do this, didn't want to talk about it, ever...but, Herc believed they needed to clear the air. Iolaus looked exhausted, was clearly not sleeping well. Herc suspected his partner was suffering from nightmares...and he noted Iolaus was still unconsciously kneading his wrists and hands from time to time. Like it or not, Iolaus also needed to talk about what had happened, so that he could finally let it go.

An hour later, they found their favourite spot by a stream which flowed from the hills into the sunlit Bay of Corinth below. Iolaus did not even bother to continue with the charade of fishing by pulling hooks and line out of his pack. Instead, he leaned back against a tree, his arms crossed over his chest, an almost belligerant look on his face as he confronted Hercules. "So?" he demanded.

"So?" enquired Hercules mildly, still unsure exactly where to start, what to say, despite having thought about this for days.

Iolaus sighed as he rolled his eyes. "Hercules, it's been perfectly clear that you feel some need to talk about something...so talk."

Herc looked away for a moment, took a breath, then turned his gaze back to Iolaus' defensive eyes. "Iolaus, I know you don't want to do this...but...I can see it's still bothering you, too...You look like you haven't slept since we left the boat...and you keep rubbing at your hands, almost obsessively...."

Iolaus bit his lip, looked away. His voice was distant, controlled, as he replied, "Herc, what do you expect? They _crucified_ me...it takes a while to get past that...to push the memories of it away."

Hercules looked at his friend with compassion. He knew Iolaus wanted to let it be...but, there was more to be said. "Iolaus, I can't even begin to imagine how terrible that experience was to endure...but, that's not what I want to talk about...and, I don't think that's what's really been bothering you about it."

Iolaus remained standing against the tree, his arms crossed, his face concealed by his hair as he stared down at the ground. "Don't, Herc...please, can't you just let it go...."

"No, I can't...and neither can you." Herc took a deep breath, tried to keep his voice steady as he continued, "Iolaus...you gave up....you just _gave up_. I saw it in your eyes, heard it in your voice....I've seen you bloodied and broken, hurt beyond imagining when you lost your family....I've even held you, while you died...but, I've never seen that before...never before seen you..._defeated_." Herc's voice cracked, in part from the pain he felt for his friend, in part for the abiding fury he carried for the Tribune who had done this to Iolaus.

Iolaus stiffened, and suddenly his anger was spilling out between them. Furious, his hands gesturing, emphasizing his points, his eyes flashing, he cried, "Damn it, Hercules...what do you _want_ from me? Yes, I was defeated! Yes, I had given up! You'd saved my life...but nothing was going to save my limbs...my hands or feet. All I could see ahead of me was an endless suffering, being a burden to everyone I love..._especially_ to you. How could you imagine I would want you carrying me around, dressing me, feeding me...bearing me to the latrine and cleaning me up after!" Iolaus' voice broke. "Gods, Hercules, _of course_ I gave up....I'd rather be dead than endure that...than be nothing but a sack of bones dragging you down...." Tears were bright in Iolaus' eyes, as he finished in a choked murmur, "I wanted to die, I even _prayed_ to die. And, I knew you'd be alright...you've got Nico now...you don't need me anymore, not like you did...you'd have been alright."

Hercules blinked at the burning in his own eyes, swallowing against the grief he felt for Iolaus' torment. "Iolaus," he said softly, "how can you imagine that I would rather have you dead than alive, regardless of what that meant. I told you on the ship, and I'll tell you again now...you're more than hands or feet... you're my best friend...and I will _always_ need you, your heart and courage, your mind and common sense....you'd never be a burden, never drag me down...gods, Iolaus...I'd do _anything_ for you...anything to keep you with me. So what if you couldn't walk, or hunt, or fight...or take care of yourself. You'd have still been here, still have been you...your voice, your eyes, your laughter....a memory can't talk back, can't argue with me when I'm being stupid or pigheaded...a memory can't tease me, or let me know I'm loved by someone worth more than my own life...I love Nico, of course I do, but he could _never_ fill your place in my life...in my heart. Please, Iolaus, don't _ever_ willingly let go...don't _ever_ give up, no matter what ever happens...we'll get through it together."

Iolaus had again crossed his arms across his chest, had turned a little, leaning his shoulder into the tree, his face half turned away, to hide the tears that were brimming in his eyes. He shook his head sharply, whispering brokenly, "You might not have cared if I had been helpless...a burden. But, _I_ cared, Herc. I'm only mortal...I couldn't face it...you ask too much of me."

Herc's lips thinned, his nostrils flared, his sorrow for Iolaus giving way to his own anger. He could not leave it like this...with Iolaus still willing to accept defeat should he ever be hurt like that again...still preferring to die. Nor could he leave Iolaus believing himself capable of defeat. It was his determination, his strength of will, as much as his strength of body, which had enabled him survive this long, despite the odds they faced.

"Well, get used to it, Iolaus," Herc snapped back. "I'm _always_ going to expect too much of you! Damn it..._you're_ the one who taught me I could expect miracles from you! You would _never_ be a burden...and I won't put up with this self pitying bullshit. _Get over it!_" Hercules raged, his voice hard and uncompromising.

Furious, Iolaus turned back to face his friend, "Self pitying...! How _dare_ you! How would you know what it was like? How would you have felt if it had been you!"

"If it had been me, you would have done everything you could for me, you would have expected me to fight for my life. You would never have considered me a burden...you would have devoted you life to me, just as you always have..._and you know it_."

The fury left Iolaus' eyes, leaving in it's place the look of an animal who has found itself trapped... frightened, lost. "I...it's not the same thing...."

"It's _exactly_ the same, Iolaus...you would never give up on me anymore than I will ever give up on you."

Iolaus brushed the tears from his face with the back of his hand, then found himself again unconsciously rubbing his left wrist with his right hand. Staring down at his hands, he said softly, "They destroyed me, Herc, when they nailed me to that cross...they destroyed my life...who I am. I was afraid to live without hands, unable to walk...I knew you'd never abandon me...and I was afraid you'd come to resent me...hate me. I couldn't stand that...." Iolaus' fists clenched as his voice broke. He was desperately fighting to maintain some semblance of control.

Hercules closed the distance between them, wrapped Iolaus in his arms, hugging him tightly. "I would never resent you...could never hate you, Iolaus...never," he whispered. "I'd like to kill them for what they did to you....."

Iolaus had returned Herc's tight hug, but he couldn't help laughing bitterly at the last comment. Pulling away, he said, "Yeah? Well, get in line...I hope I never see that bastard, Andros, again."

Herc maintained a hand on Iolaus' shoulder as he looked down at his best friend, making himself say the rest of it...forcing Iolaus to confront the truth. "Iolaus...you might have felt they had destroyed your life...but, they didn't...you would have got past it....You're the bravest, most courageous and determined man I have ever known....your life would have changed, yes, terribly...but,_ no one else can ever defeat or destroy you....you did that to yourself_, when you decided to give up...and deep down, you know that...and that's why you've been unable to let go of what happened...why you still have the nightmares."

Iolaus looked up at Hercules with haunted eyes. Gods, how had he known that? How could anyone know someone else that well. He'd felt he'd failed himself, and Hercules, and his son, Orrie, by not having the courage to face a future of complete and utter dependency. But, it had happened, it was done...he couldn't take it back, couldn't pretend he hadn't played the coward. "What do you want from me, Hercules?" he whispered hoarsely, regret and shame clogging his throat. "I can't change the fact that I did give up...that I was too afraid to face what the future would mean."

"What do I want?" mused the demigod, warmth filling his eyes, "I want you to live forever...I want you to be immortal...and, right now, I want you to forgive yourself...and promise me you will never give up again, no matter whatever happens, you will _never, ever, willingly let go of your life_. It's too precious, Iolaus... you matter too much to so many people, not just to me."

Iolaus swallowed hard, bit his lip as he looked away at the stream sparkling in the sunlight, felt the wind against his face, heard it in the trees around them. Forgive himself...for only being human after all, for not being perfect, not always and forever living up to the standards he set for himself. He could tell Herc didn't blame him...even understood...Herc just didn't want him to ever give up again. Iolaus decided he could agree to that... he'd learned from what had happened, learned that even the worst could be contemplated, could be endured, if he had the courage to face it. Iolaus straightened his shoulders, nodded his head once to himself, then turned back to Hercules, replying seriously, "Alright, Herc...I can't promise to live forever, but I promise to never let go again...to never choose to give up again."

Herc grinned down at Iolaus as he turned, wrapping an arm around his friend's shoulders, drawing them both toward the stream. "Good...that's all I wanted to hear. Now, can we do a little fishing?"

Iolaus snickered, relieved to have laid the ghost of his cowardice to rest. Bending, he grabbed up his abandoned pack, and rummaged in it, pulling out the hooks and line. "Sure," Iolaus replied, as he turned to look for sticks to use as fishing poles, "I thought that's why we came!"

* * *

Racing along the exercise track in the field outside the City walls, the youth easily outpaced the others in his age cohort. Tall for his age, and strong, Iolaus revelled in the feel of the wind against his face, through his long flowing dark hair, in the stretch of muscle and the solid feel of the packed earth beneath his feet. He was a natural, easily the fastest kid the Spartans had seen in a number of years...with the right training and desire, they knew the youth would compete in the games at Olympia in three years...and, he had a very good chance of winning.

Iolaus swept around the final bend, lengths ahead of the others, fairly dancing over the finish line, then slowed until he stood bent with hands on knees, drawing in air, letting his breathing settle. He knew his trainers dreamed of Olympic glory when they watched him run...then he laughed ruefully at himself as he admitted that he dreamed of it, too. Straightening, he stretched like a cat, then jogged gracefully back to stand before their instructor. Keeping his face straight, his manner austere, he nodded once in salute to his senior officer, then moved to stand in line with his comrades, who were straggling in from the track.

There was no hint of approval in the man's expression, but there was a glint of approbation in his eyes. He liked young Prince Iolaus...they all did. The lad could not have found adjustment to a Spartan way of life easy, but he had not once complained nor stinted in the fulfillment of his duties. He was properly respectful, thoughtful when confronted with new intellectual challenges and eager to embrace the physical demands made upon every cadet...to make them strong, to teach them endurance. A stranger, he was not readily welcomed by the others in his cohort. The instructor was not blind to his own nature, or to that of his compatriots...he knew Spartans could be a haughty lot, convinced of their own moral and physical superiority... but, Iolaus had gradually won the acceptance of others...had even made friends.

When he'd arrived, the lad had already known the basic warrior arts with sword, staff, spear and bow...and he was fast perfecting his skills. He had found fighting in a diad difficult at first...struggled to find the rhythm of moving as one with another. He had not mastered it yet...it had only been a little more than five months after all, but he was making good progress. Iolaus stood tall and bronzed amongst the others, a head taller than most. But, it was as if the lad knew nothing of pride...there was no haughtiness in his manner, nothing of the Prince born to rule. Sergius nodded to himself as he considered the youth...he would make a fine warrior one day...perhaps an even finer King.

Iolaus stood quietly at attention, waiting with the others for the next assignment. It would probably be another workout with them paired, one with sword, one with shield. He held back his grimace...the damned shield was awkward and heavy, causing his muscles and back to ache. Still, it was a skill he needed to learn...and learn it he would. He would have rather been the swordcarrier than the shieldbearer, but then, he would have had less to learn...the manipulation of the shield in a kind of dance to protect his swordbrother was new to him, was a challenge.

Letting his eyes drift, he was startled, and a little unsettled, to once again see a Roman Tribune high on the hill overlooking the exercise field, staring at them. Iolaus had the odd sensation that the man was watching him...had been watching him for a week now. A silent, oppressive, vaguely threatening presence. The youth rolled his shoulders, casting off the vague disquiet. He was being fanciful. Turning his attention back to his instructor, he waited for his assignment.

And, he had been correct. Once again, he was tasked with picking up the large, heavy shield, tasked with protecting his swordbrother from the determined assault of the pair of cadets assigned to work with them. As he swung the shield, balancing his body, attuning himself to the actions of his partner, Iolaus wondered how he would face a real combat situation...if he would be brave, or if he would shake with fear. Protected all of his life, he had never had to face real danger, deal with raw adversity. He hoped he would act with courage...but, was wise enough to know no one could ever really predict how they would feel or act...it was one lesson which could only be learned by facing an armed enemy who was determined to kill.

Later, when they had completed the exercises and martial practice for the day, Iolaus headed back with the others to the city. He and his mates laughed and joked, shoving one another, plotted out the evening's activities while surrepticiously checking out the girls making their own way to the track for their workout...unlike other Greeks, Spartans believed girls and women should also be fit, able to fight if necessary...and these girls walked with legs and arms bare, confident in their own strength and vitality. Iolaus smiled shyly at one girl as they passed by...one day, maybe, he'd work up the nerve to talk to her.

However, as they passed through the city gates and ambled carelessly along on their journey back through the teeming streets to the barracks, Iolaus felt the hairs on the back of his neck quiver....Once again, he felt as if he was being watched, but everytime he turned to check the route behind, he could see no one suspicious... certainly, he never saw the Roman Tribune. Nevertheless, he was sure the man was following him, had followed him before. Unfortunately, with neither proof nor witnesses, and never even having caught the man trailing him, he could make no complaint, raise no suspicions. Shrugging, he turned back to the conversation with his friends...maybe it was all just his imagination.

* * *

Andros gazed almost hungrily at the young athlete...Iolaus, Crown Prince of Corinth. The youth was easy to spot, as he loomed above the others, easy to follow. Andros had stalked him for days now, biding his time, learning the youth's habits and schedule, his haunts, his friends, his preferred routes through the City and countryside. Andros believed he could take the youth anytime now...but, the time was not yet right. Andros had learned through a spy he had suborned in the palace that, in another few weeks, the Prince's father, and no doubt other family members, would arrive to escort the Prince home for the Solstice holiday. Andros needed to learn when the Corinthians would arrive...then...then Andros would have his revenge.

In the way of men driven mad by anger, by hatred and fear, Andros did not realize his obsession had passed all normal bounds. He thought of nothing but his revenge, plotting it's details, savouring the images of retribution which flickered in his mind. He was unaware others were noticing his increasing eccentricities, his lack of attention to duty. His centurion had noted his odd, distracted behaviour, had already cautioned him once, in the gruff way of an older subordinate to a younger superior, to pay more attention to his responsibilities, but Andros didn't care. He knew his men watched him warily...but he did not know they saw a madness in his eyes, and were uncomfortable, knowing they were compelled to follow his orders...wondering if he would get them into trouble.

They needn't have worried...Andros' plans held no room for them...well, not directly...no, this he would do alone...it would be a glorious personal victory, to be shared with no one else. As the days passed, it became more and more difficult for him to pretend interest in his duties as Tribune... harder and harder to focus upon the reality which surrounded him. Soon...it would be soon. Very soon.

He smiled as he considered his plan...this time, his enemies would not escape. He knew exactly how he would kill Iolaus and the boy...but, the problem had been to find a way to kill Hercules. He couldn't risk hoping the demigod could be killed in the manner of other mortals, vulnerable to his halfmortal heart. No...Andros needed to be certain...he needed to kill the godhalf as well. He knew the legends, that hinds' blood could kill gods, but there were no more Golden Hinds in the world...no way to acquire their blood. Seeking inspiration, Andros had sacrificing three times daily at the small shrine to Mars which the Romans had set up within their compound. He grinned wolfishly as he remembered how his prayers had been answered within the week.

He'd been kneeling in the shrine, before the statue of Mars, when he overheard two priests gossiping in the shadows. Just that day, one had heard a rumour from one of the priestesses of Athena, that the ancient Spartans had found a holy, and very dangerous artifact...a dagger carved from a rib of Chronos, the Titan father of Zeus...and had secreted it within the heart of the goddess' shrine. Yet, this only led to another mystery...the Spartans believed the 'goddess' of the tale was none other than Athena...but, many had searched her shrine over the centuries, including it was said, Ares himself, without success. So, the priest concluded, perhaps it was only a story after all.

Hearing the words, Andros bowed his head, giving humble thanks to Mars. There was a weapon to kill a god...and it was nearby. All he had to do was find it. Andros left the shrine, and from that moment, he spent every waking hour, and many he should have used for sleeping, searching the shrines to goddesses in and around Sparta. He paid cursory attention at best to his duties as Tribune, and, even then, he tended to use the time he must spend in his armour, on duty, stalking the youth, Iolaus.

He had not bothered to search the main temple to Athena in Sparta...others had searched there...with no success. Methodically, he went to each other the other temples and shrines, ones to Hera, and Aphrodite, Hebea, more modest temples and shrines to Athena, Persephone's shrines....shrines to Discord, Nemesis and the Fates (which had seemed to him to be highly likely options, if only because he saw himself as their nemesis, their fates in his hands). During his searches, Andros had decided the 'heart of the shrine' had to be the alter itself...or it's foundation. He tapped on alters, seeking evidence of a hollowness, inspected their foundations, seeking any hint, any indication of a less than continuous block of marble or other stone. He refused to be disheartened at his continuing lack of success. When he finished with the temples and shrines within the City itself, he moved beyond the walls. Finally, in the third week, he found the old, dilapidated shrine of Artemis, long abandoned as the Spartans turned to gods more powerful than the Moon Goddess.

Half of the roof had tumbled in, one wall had crumbled, victims of the hands of Time. The alter was half buried under the debris, all valuable artifacts, treasures, statues, tapestries had disappeared centuries before. Andros brushed the rotting wood from the tumbledown roof, and the cracked pieces of clay from the collapsed wall, off and away from the alter, which was a single piece of plain marble, obviously quarried from the pit not more than fifty feet away. Studying the alter, and it's foundations for a moment, Andros then turned and returned to his horse, where he had left tools...a hammer, a wedge, a shovel, an axe. He carried them into the hovel, laying them all on the ground. Taking the hammer and wedge, he again circled the shrine, saw a flaking of mortar in the back, toward the middle, and chose that as his place to begin.

Andros hammered for hours before he had finally loosened the grip of the foundation upon the alter. Straining, sweating in his effort, he pushed and prodded the alter from its place, until it finally slid off to the side. He caught his breath as he looked down into a cavity which had been carved into the stone foundation...within which was a small onyx chest. Dropping to his knees, he bent and carefully lifted out the ancient box. There was a lock of sorts...which he broke off with the axe. Andros held his breath as he opened the chest. There, resting within a cloth of crimson, he found a bone dagger...it's edges thin and sharp enough to cut parchment, the blade slightly serrated, and slightly curved, following the original curve of the rib it had once been. Andros let out a heaving breath, almost a sob. The gods must surely be favouring him to have led him here...to have allowed him, of all those who had searched over the centuries, to have found this treasure. Surely, this meant the gods favoured his plan...smiled upon his intention to kill Hercules, as well as his much loathed partner, Iolaus.

Andros slid the dagger into his shirt, keeping it against his skin, where he would keep it safe until the time came to use it. It was far too sacred, far too valuable to hide it again out of his sight...no, he must carry it with him. Leaving the dim shadows of the ancient shrine, Andros walked out into the late evening light. He wandered to the edge of the old quarry, gazed around the area, then turned back to the shrine, which was sheltered, halfhidded by a thin band of trees. He whispered a thank you to his patron god for having brought him here...not only to find the weapon, but to find the perfect location for it's use.

He smiled as he considered the final details of his plan...this time, his enemies would not escape.

As the nearly full moon began its rise over the abandoned shrine, and Andros mounted to ride back to Sparta, he had no idea he had been watched. Artemis stared after him, cursing his tenacity, and his ingenuity. How had he found the artifact when it had been so well hidden, so secure, for hundreds and hundreds of years. How didn't really matter...again, Artemis cursed. It was a blade no god could destroy...it required a mortal's touch, so all she and Athena had been able to do was hide it away, then allow this shrine to tumble into obscurity, hoping it would never be found. Why had Andros sought the bone dagger? How did he intend to use it? Artemis determined to watch him closely until she had learned the intentions of his heart.

* * *

Iolaus was bored and restless. For the last few days, he had not left the Palace grounds. Pent up energy drove him to prowl the Palace corridors until finally he decided to visit Iphicles in his official rooms... maybe there was something he could do to help the King. Even filing would be preferable to just...hanging around.

Having ascertained the King was alone, Iolaus ambled into the office and dropped unceremoniously into a chair on the far side of the desk. However, when he caught the thunderous look on Iph's face, he straightened. Iphicles had thrown him an unreadable look when he'd entered, but had just returned, scowling, to the scroll in his hand, with no word of greeting.

"Something wrong, Iph?" Iolaus enquired, concerned.

"Bah!" Iphicles' spat out as he tossed the scroll aside. "Romans. _Insufferable, conceited_...."

Iolaus rarely saw Iphicles so worked up...the man was normally as cool as the snows that capped Mount Parnassus. Curious, Iolaus reached for the scroll...Iphicles had been staring at the far wall, and by the time he'd realized Iolaus had secured the document and moved to grab it, Iolaus' eyes were already scanning the words:

_'We are in receipt of your complaint about the conduct of our Governor in Corinth, and of our loyal Tribune, Andros. Frankly, we are offended by your reaction to the gift of distinction offered to the Princes Nico and Orestes. It is unusual to be chosen to live in Rome, to be raised as Roman citizens, and we are saddened at your denial of this rare opportunity for the children in your care. We would urge you to reconsider your decision to deny them this distinction and the future rewards a life in Rome would bring to them. _

_Further, we find your allegations against our esteemed Governor slanderous, and would suggest you take greater care with your words. As to the actions of our loyal Tribune, in our view he is to be commended for having acted within the scope of his authority in punishing traitors who had attacked his camp, threatening the young charges in his care. The Tribune took appropriate action in condemning the leader of this scandalous act of defiance and chose the correct means of execution. _

_In conclusion, we see no cause for your complaint and consider the matter closed.'_

Iph heard Iolaus draw in a quick gasp, saw him pale a little, as he finished the document. Iolaus just stared at it for a moment, then carefully rolled the scroll, placing it back on Iphicles desk. "I didn't know you had written to Rome...."

"I'm sorry, Iolaus...I...you shouldn't have seen that...."

Iolaus' mind played out the words, fragments seared into his memory before responding. "They're a cold lot, aren't they?" Suddenly his eyes blazed, "Where do they get off lecturing to us after they _kidnapped_ our kids!"

Iphicles sighed. There was no response to that...except 'power confers privileges'...and he doubted Iolaus wanted to hear that rationale for their inexcusable behaviour. He gazed a moment at Iolaus, then said quietly, "I didn't tell them...."

"What?" Iolaus asked when Iphicles let the sentence drift off, "Didn't tell them what?"

Iphicles looked down at the pile of papers on his desk, then back at Iolaus. Straightening in his chair, he continued, "While I didn't really expect a response, I was afraid this might be their reaction, so I didn't tell them the name of the leader of the raiding party, or that he escaped his execution...they would be likely to put a reward on his head."

Iolaus raised a skeptical brow, "'His' head?"

Iphicles nodded, "They don't have 'his' name, nor are they likely to ever hear it."

Iolaus chuckled bitterly, "The Governor knows, Iph...eventually Rome will know."

Iphicles shook his head. "I don't think so...there would be no point in the Governor ever mentioning this mission to them...it failed after all. And that godscursed Tribune, wherever he is, is unlikely to have the right contacts to ever bring the information to the attention of anyone important...nor is he likely to want to...again, the mission failed completely. Nor would he brag about the failure of his attempt to execute you."

Iolaus thought about this reasoning. Scratching his cheek thoughtfully, he said quietly, "I can't say I'm sorry they don't know...it's no fun hiding out. I wouldn't want to have to take to the hills again."

Iphicles sat quietly for a moment, remembering the risks Iolaus had taken when he had agreed to lead the resistance against Rome, then changed the subject. "Why did you drop in, Iolaus? Was there something you wanted?"

Iolaus roused himself from wherever his thoughts had taken him, "No, nothing special...I was just looking for something to do." Standing, he turned to the door, "Sorry to have bothered you, Iph...."

"Iolaus!" Iph's voice called him back, made him turn to face the King. "Iolaus, I am sorry you saw the letter...put it out of your mind. You and Hercules got the boys back...and we got you back...that's all that matters now."

Iolaus nodded, but said nothing as he quietly left the office, softly closing the door. _'Chose the correct means of execution'_...gods....he almost hoped someday the offensive official would have an opportunity to experience that particular brand of Roman justice...but, no, Iolaus realized he couldn't wish that on even his worst enemy, let alone an anonymous bureaucrat in some distant city.

No longer bored, Iolaus climbed the steps to the Palace roof, strangely in need of clear, fresh air and the healing touch of sunlight. His discussion with Hercules the week before had banished the shame he had felt for having chosen to die, rather than face life disabled, but the memories of the crucifixion itself, the memory of the pain and mutilation, had lingered on. He no longer had nightmares, but he wished he had not seen that letter...Iolaus tried to never think about what had happened, was trying to push the memories back to a place where they would no longer haunt him. Rolling his shoulders, pushing his hands through his hair, he took deep calming breaths. Finally, he turned, heading back into the palace. Maybe he could find Hercules...maybe they could go hunting. It was something to do.

* * *

Prince Iolaus stood in the small, bare cell the Spartans called a room, reading the scroll he had just received from his father. A smile lit his face as he finished the message...his father had a way with words, bringing the business and news of the Palace and City alive, helping Iolaus feel less isolated, less homesick. And now, his father had given him the details of when to expect him when he came to Sparta to escort Iolaus home for the Solstice holiday...and Hercules and Iolaus would be with him...as well as his new cousin, Nico...and even, perhaps, his father's new ward, Prince Orestes of Attica.

Iolaus chuckled happily to himself. He didn't need an escort, and his father knew it...but, by coming personally for him, Iphicles was signalling how much he valued his son, and missed him. That the others would come as well gave him a warm glow of happiness...even the most confident of people likes to know their family values them, misses them...and, Iolaus was, after all, only thirteen years old. No longer a child, but not yet a man, he was struggling to find his way, define himself...and for all of his confidence and success at acclimatizing to Sparta, he missed the easy familiarity, the security of home.

He looked around the Spartan chamber, at the simple oak desk and straight chair, the bed which was little more than a pallet, covered with thin, rough woolen sheets. No decorations or tapestries on the walls, no carpets on the floor...nothing of beauty or comfort. He sighed. It hadn't been easy getting used to such a different way of living, such barrenness. He hadn't complained, or made any changes to personalize or soften the room...had taken care not to, lest he insult his hosts. But, he looked forward to returning to his own home, even if only for a little while.

Iolaus moved to gaze out the narrow window embrasure to the courtyard below. There was a modest fountain in the centre, with statues of Athena at one end, and Ares at the other. Cold wisdom and war...the two gods of Sparta. Iolaus found them a strange, hard people. He had seen boys mentally beaten down by their superiors (who might simply be older boys) supposedly to make them tough....he had seen boys whipped for petty faults, again to ensure they could withstand pain with honour. Iolaus had quickly learned to take the verbal abuse with proper deference, and, so far at least, he had avoided any transgressions which would have led to a whipping. Gods, he'd be glad to go home.

Not that he hadn't made friends...he had. He might not understand them, but he respected the strength, the courage and valour with which these people lived their lives. And, while he might not enjoy the 'Spartan' living conditions, he understood their belief in austerity...that it's not possessions or comforts which make a life, but rather what one stood for, believed in, loved. He had learned much from them, even in the short five months he had been here.

And, in two more weeks...he'd be heading home for the holidays!

* * *

As Solstice approached, the family made plans to travel to Sparta to escort Prince Iolaus home for the holiday. However, messages and rumours had started to emerge from Sparta, vague accounts of insipient unrest. It was hard to put the story together, but apparently the Romans were complaining about the Spartan practice of being constantly prepared for war...training their children from an early age, and their women, too, in physical endurance and martial arts. The Romans found this a not so subtle means of implied resistance to the Empire. No serious confrontation had yet happened....but it seemed clear, it was only a matter of time. The Romans were preparing to order the Spartans to stop the training of their youth and young men....and, everyone knew, the Spartans would refuse.

Herc and Iolaus had planned to take Nico and Orrie on the journey...and the boys were excited, looking forward to seeing Sparta, and, most especially, to meeting young Iolaus. However, with the rumoured trouble, they weren't sure they should risk taking the boys there. But, they both knew they couldn't just leave the boys behind...it would be too disappointing for them...nor did they want to let Iphicles go alone. They'd come to appreciate the value Iphicles placed on family and understood it was important to him that they all go to bring his son home.

Finally, Herc and Iolaus decided to take the boys. There were only rumours, after all...no real conflict had occurred, nor was it likely to during a holiday...the Spartans were reluctant to make war on holy days. And, they would be there, along with Iphicles and some of his palace guards, to ensure the boys' safety. Besides, they were not returning immediately to Corinth after retrieving young Iolaus...they would be heading to Jason's Academy, to spend the holiday with him and Lilith. It was a family time...and the whole family would be together.

The boys could scarcely contain their excitement as the day of departure approached. They were eager to meet young Prince Iolaus, hoping he would not lord it over them, now that he was old enough to attend the Spartan Academy, hoped he'd be as interested in getting to know them as they were to know him. And, they'd both heard a lot of stories about the adventures Hercules and Iolaus had had at the Academy...as well as the legends about Jason and the Argonauts...and the Golden Fleece. They couldn't wait to meet him!

Iolaus got a kick out of the boys' excitement, and was looking forward to the trip himself. It would be good to see Jason and Lilith, and young Iolaus, again.

Iphicles was as excited as the boys, although he took pains not to show it. He missed his son and could not wait to see him again. In one more week...just one more week.

Hercules was the only one not really looking forward to the journey. They would be riding horses...and he hated horses...well, maybe not the horses...he just hated riding them. It didn't help that Iolaus found his friend's aversion and obvious disquiet a source of endless amusement!

* * *

Andros had been sowing seeds of discord for weeks...a quiet observation here, a suspicious word there...and he had the local Roman Governor convinced of the need to confront the Spartans about their militaristic manner. It was unsuitable...and inappropriate...to have a subordinate state so obvious in their preparations for war. It would be different if Spartans ever volunteered to serve in the Roman army...but none ever did, their contempt for the Romans only too clear. As a result, the Governor had become increasingly testy in his dealings with the Spartans, increasingly unsettled by their martial behaviour.

Andros hadn't just worked on the Governor...he'd also sowed similar suspicions and feelings of disquiet amongst his men, so that they would be ready to see an uprising, anticipating revolt, in the most innocent of actions. Assiduously, Andros fanned the flames of rivalry, and of conflict, encouraging his men to confront the Spartans, and rather than admonishing them when petty grievances led to blows, he praised them for their discipline and Roman honour in refusing to accept any imagined insult from the hasbeen Greeks....oh, the Spartans might have a proud history, but that was long ago...now, they were the subject state of Rome, and it was time they learned it.

Andros was well pleased with the progress he was making. The Governor was primed to demand the Spartans put away their weapons and discontinue their martial training just before the Solstice...the holiday seeming a perfect time to call the Spartans to a new accord, a new way of life. His men were ready to react with armed force if the Spartans refused the Governor's demands...as they most certainly would refuse.

Andros thought the Governor a fool...but, was glad of it. The conflict which was certain to erupt was the distraction he wanted. It would keep everyone occupied, while he played out his own game...declared his own war.

* * *

The night before their departure for Sparta, the family passed a happy evening. After the dinner which included something of everyone's favourite dishes, they adjorned to the comfortable private sitting room, circled around the blazing fire, exchanging jokes, singing Solstice songs....filled with the warmth of family and with love. Later, they each carefully packed the gifts they had devised for one another, anticipating the enjoyment the gifts would bring to the ones they loved.

Early the next morning, eager to be on their way, Iphicles, Hercules and Iolaus, Nico and Orrie, together with Iphicles' guards, set out on the road, heading south to Sparta. They had no way of knowing the horror which awaited them there.

* * *

While the family were making their preparations for their journey and Solstice celebration, Andros was acting on the intelligence he had gathered from his spy in the royal residence. Much to his satisfaction, he had learned Iphicles would be arriving in Sparta late the next afternoon...and, best of all, his spy had confirmed Iphicles was not arriving alone. It was time to make his move, time to set his plan in motion.

Andros smirked with contempt as he easily penetrated the royal grounds. The Spartans had never mounted a serious guard around the King's residence in Sparta...the King liked to live as simply as his subjects. So, aside from a couple of sentries who paced the grounds, there were no real obstacles to anyone who wished to penetrate the court's security. The Spartans felt safe within the walls of their own city.

Andros, by now very familiar with Iolaus' routines, knew the youth liked to take a late stroll around the grounds, finishing in the stables, before turning in each night. Accordingly, Andros had slipped into the stables through its back entrance, not far from a secluded dark alley, as soon as night had fallen. He was waiting there when the youth unsuspectingly strolled in for a few quiet moments with his favourite steed.

Iolaus was excited about the prospect of seeing his family tomorrow. He knew he would have trouble getting to sleep, and hoped his usual visit with his favourite mount would settle him a little. "Hey, Mirage," Iolaus whispered softly as he held out an apple for the sleek, black mare, then stroked her face, "how's my favourite lady? Are you ready for our journey? We'll be leaving the day after tomorrow!"

The horse's surprised snort and rearing head was all the warning Iolaus had...instinctively, he ducked and darted to the side, but was not quick enough to miss the blow which had been directed at his head, but which now landed heavily on his shoulder. Staggering, Iolaus turned quickly to face his assailant, and saw the Roman Tribune standing before him....holding the sword. It was HIM! The Tribune who had watched from the hill above the exercise field for the past several weeks. Andros swore under his breath as he faced the youth...he had hoped to take him quietly, using the hilt of his sword to knock the kid senseless.

"Who are you?" demanded Iolaus, his mouth suddenly dry. He was vaguely aware he shouldn't be talking...he should be shouting for help. But, he'd never been attacked before...had never had to yell for assistance. He was offguard, unprepared...he'd been taught how to fight in a battle, not to face an unexpected enemy within the security of his own residence.

"Your worst nightmare," Andros snarled as he moved toward the youth.

Iolaus backed away, trying not to get cornered. "_Why?_ What do you want?"

"You'll find that out soon enough..." Andros replied as he lunged toward the youth. Handicapped by his desire to take the boy alive, and without alerting the guards not far away, he'd taken a moment to decide how to take the boy. Now, he aimed for the youth's side, to graze his ribs, inflicting pain but not mortal injury. Iolaus tried to dodge, but the Roman was too close. He felt the burning along his side as the sword sliced through his shirt, slashing the skin, drawing blood. Unconsciously, Iolaus bent a little, putting his hand against the injury, turning away from the Roman. Andros had been waiting for this, and had raised the sword, bringing it down hard, the hilt connecting solidly with the boy's skull.

Iolaus felt the hard blow to the back of his head, just behind his ear, and collapsed, already unconscious by the time he hit the stable floor. Andros smiled grimly down at the youth, pleased to see blood beginning to pool beside and under the boy's body. He dropped a few small metal pieces he had pulled from his own greaves into the blood...slight evidence, but undoubtedly of Roman design and manufacture. Those who came looking for the youth would not have to guess about who had taken him...the trail back to the Romans would be clear.

Andros pulled the unconscious youth up and over his shoulder, striding quietly to the back of the building. Pausing, he carefully opened the door wide enough to check to see the way was clear, then, bearing his captive, he hastened from the stable into the darkened alley, to where he had hidden two horses. After, tying Iolaus securely over the back of one horse, Andros covered his still, silent captive with a blanket. Then, he mounted the other and, taking the reins of the second horse, he rode away through the darkened city alleyways. Near the gate, he stopped in the shadows, eyeing the guard on duty there. Calmly, Andros rode toward the guard, leading what appeared to be a simple packhorse. The guard saw a Roman Tribune, apparently on his way on a late assignment which was taking him away from Sparta. Not even bothering to nod at the guard as he passed, Andros rode through the gates, and disappeared into the darkened countryside beyond.

As the night closed around them, Andros allowed a feral grin to curl his lips. It was begun. Soon, his enemy would be within his grasp...tomorrow, the traitor would die....

* * *

Artemis had watched Andros for a week, unable to see how the spreading of unrest amonst the Romans related to the Chronos dagger. Now, she thought she understood. Prince Iolaus was Hercules' nephew ...and Hercules had thwarted Rome more than once in the past year. Clearly, Andros intended to lure Hercules into a trap....intended to kill him. Sparta was under the protection of Athena and Ares...Artemis avoided Ares whenever possible, but she needed to engage Athena in this business...together, they needed to decide what was to be done.

Artemis was not the only divine being who had watched Andros' actions. Ares/Mars had been only too happy to help Andros discover the existance of the Chronos blade. Ares was well pleased with his servant, for having had the patience, persistance and insight necessary to find the ancient blade...and, he was even more pleased with the purpose for which Andros had sought it. Ares could not kill Hercules himself, though he'd often been sorely tempted...it was best this way, that a mortal should kill him....Ares would have the fun of watching. And, when it was done, Ares would take the blade from Andros...the blade would give him the 'edge' he needed to wrest control of Olympus from Zeus. Ares smiled, then laughed, full of eager anticipation. Before the next next night fell, he would be in control, master of the gods, and of the earth they ruled.

* * *

It was early morning before Iolaus' absence was noticed. When he didn't show up for breakfast, a servant was sent to fetch him...only to find the bed had not been slept in. A search was mounted, and minutes later, the pool of dried blood and the evidence of Roman presence was found in the stables, near the stall of Iolaus' favourite horse. It wasn't hard to draw conclusions.

The Spartan King, Leonides was enraged. He had heard of the attempted abduction of King Iphicles' nephew and Queen Niobe's son. Although the incident was in no way common knowledge, the rulers kept one another informed of such episodes in order than they might be alerted to potential threats. Now, the Romans had come after King Iphicles' son...had taken him from the royal grounds. It was untenable. Leonides was determined to get the boy back before Iphicles arrived later that day.

First, he sent a message to the school, ordering all cadets to search the City for Iolaus. Leonides made no secret that the youth had been taken forcibly, and appeared to have been injured in the attack. Then, he sent a curt note to the Governor, demanding the Roman attend him immediately.

By the time the Governor elected to respond to the insulting demand...he didn't like being ordered about like a lackey...the streets of Sparta were filled with armed and angry cadets from every cohort. As he walked through the streets to the Palace, he became convinced an insurrection was about to take place. So, instead of continuing on his journey to see the King, he returned to his own residence, to send his own strongly worded message that the Spartans were to put down all their weapons, surrender them to the Roman legionnaires, and return to their residences at once...he was imposing a curfew for security reasons. Then, he called out his own troops...five hundred Roman legionnaires, ordering them to secure his residence, and then to surround the City walls...to contain the Spartans inside.

The King, incoherent with rage after reading the Governor's directions to him, threw the missive into the flames. Rather than ordering the cadets to lay down their arms, instead he sent out a call that every ablebodied Spartan was to don his armour, gather his weapons and prepare to show the Romans who ruled this City.

* * *

Young Iolaus became aware that his head wished he was still unconscious...the vicious pounding made him feel physically ill...and there was a burning sensation along his ribs. Opening his eyes tentatively, he quickly shut them again, as the world swirled around him. Gods. What had hit him? What had happened? Then his memory of last night crashed into his consciousness, bringing with it a cold sense of forboding. He'd been taken by the Roman Tribune...the one he believed had been tailing him for the past month.

"So, you're awake finally...by the gods, lad, you have a soft head...I didn't hit you that hard," sneered Andros.

Opening his eyes, fighting the dizziness, Iolaus gradually focused on his surroundings...a cave by the looks of it...and the man sitting not far away. Iolaus closed his eyes, disgusted with himself for not having paid closer attention to his instincts...he'd known this man had meant trouble. He tried to stretch, found himself bound, hand and foot.

Opening his eyes again, Iolaus demanded of his captor, "What do you what? Why have you taken me?"

Iolaus was pretty sure the man meant to use him as a hostage for some purpose...if the man had meant to kill him, he would be dead by now. And, it couldn't be a coincidence he had been taken just before his father was due to arrive...maybe the Tribune wanted money...maybe he was tired of being a soldier....Gods, his father would be worried sick by his disappearance.

Andros took his time answering, savouring the unmistakable signs of anxiety in the boy's eyes...not fear yet...not yet. "I want something...and you're going to help me get it," he finally said.

"Money?" Iolaus asked...the sooner he knew what was going on, the sooner there might be some resolution. Holding hostages for ransom was not unheard of...was even fairly common in some places. He wasn't yet too worried....but, he was nervous. Sometimes hostages were never seen again.

Andros laughed at the boy's suggestion, and the sound made Iolaus' skin crawl. There was an hysterical sound to the laughter, a hint of madness underlying bitterness and anger. For the first time, Iolaus looked into the Tribune's eyes...and felt the first pang of fear. The guy was crazy...barely in control. Gods, what was going on here?

Bringing himself back under control, Andros snarled, "Not money...better than money....a life...a life that's owed me....that was stolen from me. _He should be dead_...I'll make sure he is, this time."

Iolaus shivered. _"Who?"_ he asked softly...afraid the man meant his father.

Andros smiled coldly. "You'll see." Then, laughing again, Andros pulled out his stubby, ugly sword and began to sharpen it, drawing the whetstone along it's blade, over and over, in an endless obsessive ritual, as he imagined sinking it into his enemy's flesh.

* * *

When the Royal Party rode over the hill overlooking Sparta, they pulled up in amazement. The City looked under siege by the Romans who surrounded it. But, it was quiet, eerily quiet, and the Romans were not arrayed for battle....it seemed more as if they were waiting for something. Iphicles straightened his back, his chin up...no one was keeping him from his son...certainly not these upstart, socalled allies. With barely a glance at the others, he rode forward, Hercules and Iolaus on either side, Nico and Orrie between them. Iphicles' guards fanned out, close behind, ready to move forward if needed.

Iphicles rode up to the group of Romans blocking the road not far from the city gates. "What's the meaning of this?" he demanded, with all of the hauteur of a displeased King.

The Centurion looked up at the King, then casually surveyed his companions, not in the least intimidated by the King's irritation. "There's been a bit of difficulty...nothing too serious yet," he responded, glancing at the boys before continuing, "but it might be best to return another time."

"I am King Iphicles of Corinth. This is my brother, Hercules and my friend, Iolaus, my nephew, Prince Nicodromus, and my ward, Prince Orestes of Attica. We are here to escort my son home. I intend to enter the City."

The Centurion bowed his head respectfully. "Your pardon, Your Majesty...I had not recognised you. Of course, if you insist, you may enter Sparta." The Centurion waved his men away from the road, clearing a path for the Corinthians. "But, take care, there is a high level of unrest in the City."

"Why? What's going on?" Iolaus asked. None of this made sense...how had relations between the Spartans and the Romans deteriorated so rapidly?

The Centurion shrugged. "I don't really know, to be honest, sir. This morning, it was clear the Spartans were badly worked up over something...and the Governor thought it best to prepare for possible trouble."

Iolaus and Hercules exchanged mystified glances, but there was no more to learn here. They regretted bringing their sons with them, but it was too late to do anything about it. Iphicles led them on, through the city gates and along the wide street to the King's residence, or as it was affectionately called from ancient times, The Corn Palace. All along the way, they saw armed cadets and Spartan soldiers, felt the tension in the City...a powderkeg, ready to blow.

They had barely dismounted when the King's aide arrived to stand before them. "King Iphicles, King Leonides requests your presence in his quarters immediately....I will show you the way, Your Majesty."

"I want to see my son," Iphicles demanded. There was something very wrong here...Iolaus should have been waiting to greet them.

"Of course, Your Majesty...please, follow me." Avoiding Iphicles' eyes, the aide turned away. He was not about to be the bearer of bad news, was not willing to be the one to tell King Iphicles his son was missing ...and probably injured.

The three men strode rapidly through the long corridors, keeping the boys between them, close behind their guide, impatience and an uneasy anxiety growing with every step. Finally, they arrived at the royal quarters and were announced. As they entered the spacious room, Leonides rose and came to meet them. He placed a hand upon Iphicles' shoulder, as he said, "Iphicles, my friend....I wish I could give you a happier welcome."

_"Why?_ What's happening here, Leonides... _and where is my son_?"

Leonides looked past Iphicles to Hercules and Iolaus, both of whom he knew, realized the boys must be Iphicles' nephew and Queen Niobe's son. Nodding a spare greeting, he drew Iphicles closer to a circle of horsehide covered chairs, called to his servant for wine.

"Leonides..." Iph growled...impatient with waiting, beginning to feel the first touch of fear. Something had happened to Iolaus....

Leonides sighed, looked into Iphicles' eyes, "Your son was assaulted last night and kidnapped."

"What?" Iphicles whispered, feeling as if he had been punched, all the wind forced from his lungs.

"How did this happen?" demanded Hercules sharply, moving to stand beside his brother.

"As was his habit, Prince Iolaus had gone for a walk before retiring...there is evidence he was taken while in the stables. We have searched the City, but have found no trace of him."

"Evidence? What evidence?" Iolaus asked.

"There was...a small pool of blood...."

"Oh gods," Iphicles groaned softly, then reasserted his royal manner, fear mingling with fury. "Who would do this? Has Iolaus made enemies in the last six months?"

Leonides shook his head. "No...just the opposite. Your son has won many friends and admirers...he's a noble lad, but unassuming. No...he's made no personal enemies. Mixed with the blood, we found these..." Leonides picked up the small pieces of metal from his desk. Although they had been cursorily cleaned, dried blood still clung to them. Iphicles swallowed as he took the offering, examined them, then handed them to Hercules so that he and Iolaus could also see the evidence. "Romans," Iph said flatly, "Romans have taken my son."

"So we believe...I have sent for the Governor, but he has declined to meet with me...I had thought to see him in his residence, but it's surrounded by Roman guards with orders to let no one cross their line."

Iph slammed a fist down onto the top of a chair. Furious, heartsick, for a moment he didn't know what to do. Hercules moved to place an arm around his brother's shoulders. "We'll get him back, Iph...you know that. The Romans will take care not to hurt him badly...they've done this because they want something... just as they did when they took Nico and Orrie. We'll get him back."

Iolaus and Hercules knew only too well what Iphicles must be feeling. The fear, and the anger, the desperate need to see his son safe. They each looked toward the boys standing quietly behind them, their faces white, eyes too big in their faces. Hercules remained by Iphicles, giving much needed support to his brother, but Iolaus moved to stand with the boys, going down on one knee, he murmured quietly, "It will be alright...don't be afraid. You know the Romans won't hurt him."

The boys gazed back at him, not speaking. They knew Prince Iolaus was probably safe...if being held hostage could be considered safe...but, they also knew Romans didn't give up their hostages without a fight. This was a very dangerous situation, and they both knew it.

Iphicles let out the breath he'd been holding in a long sigh. He'd been about to respond when their attention was taken by a sudden flurry of activity in the doorway. "With apologies, Your Majesty," Leonides' aide said as he entered, carrying a scroll, "but this has just been delivered for King Iphicles by a Roman stableboy...he said to give it to the King immediately....Given the situation, I thought...." Leonides nodded impatiently, cutting him off, gesturing to him to pass the scroll to Iphicles.

With trepidation mixed with hope in his eyes, Iphicles took the scroll, unwound it, read....and paled visibly, leaning back against the chair behind him for support as he sighed, "By the gods....no...."

"What is it?" demanded Hercules, again placing a steadying hand on Iphicles' shoulder. Iph swallowed, looked up into his brother's eyes. "It's from the kidnapper...it's not the Romans....it's the Tribune, Andros." Both of the other men gasped at the unexpected name. Iphicles continued quietly, hating to say the words, knowing he had to, he shifted his eyes from Hercules to Iolaus, "He says he'll exchange one Iolaus...for the other."

Without hesitation, Iolaus, standing to face Iphicles, demanded, "Where? When?"

"At dusk....he says we are to be at the bottom of the old marble quarry...and, of course," Iphicles continued wearily, "we're to go alone."

"Of course," Hercules repeated, with barely contained rage. "Iolaus...we should have a plan..."

"We don't need a plan, Herc...I'm going to kill the bastard as soon as we get young Iolaus away from him," Iolaus snarled. "This has to end...here...now."

"First, let's just concentrate on getting Iolaus back. We'll deal with Andros later," Herc cautioned, glancing at the boys. He'd seen Orrie shiver at Iphicles' words...knew the boy was frightened something was going to happen to his father.

Iolaus didn't respond, but he'd understood the glance, got the message...the boys were scared...there was no need to worry them further with dramatic histrionics. Iolaus dropped a reassuring hand onto Orrie's shoulder, forced himself to speak calmly as he turned his gaze to the Spartan King. "Where's this old quarry?"

Leonides was clearly mystified by the exchange which had just taken place. Not responding to Iolaus' question, he turned to Iphicles. "Who is Andros....?"

Iphicles looked back at his Spartan counterpart, the anger and hate, the fear, clear in his eyes. "He's the man who took Hercules' son Nico, and Iolaus' cousin, Orestes....the boys were retaken in Italy, not far from Brindisi." Iphicles glanced wearily toward the boys, sorry they had to be hearing this. "He's also the Roman Tribune who was in the Square the day we surrounded the Romans and demanded the renegotiation of our treaties. Taking my son was not a political action...it's personal."

Understanding dawned in Leonides' eyes. Now he understood....and it also explained why the man was demanding a trade. Iolaus had led the rebellion....the Romans hated him...this Tribune, apparently, hated him most of all...and had cause to despise Hercules and Iphicles as well.

Turning back to Iolaus, Leonides said, "The quarry is ten miles to the west of the City....I'll have someone guide you there."

Thinking of the journey ahead, Hercules remembered the city was circled by Roman warriors. "Leonides, why are the Roman's preparing to lay siege to the City?"

Leonides snorted. "That idiot Governor...the man's as skittish as a squirrel. When he saw the armed cadets this morning, I think he assumed the boys were going to attack him...so he's trying a preemptive action. If he'd let anyone in to see him...or receive a message...we could tell him what's happened. As it is, I doubt he knows young Iolaus has been kidnapped by a Roman."

"But...why would he make such an assumption?" Hercules asked.

Leonides shook his head in frustration. "I don't know...for the past month, relations between us have deteriorated badly...he's grown more and more suspicious, more nervous. We've done nothing different than we ever have...but, now he's directed us to surrender our weapons and respect a curfew he's ordered. The man's a fool....he's likely to start the war he fears so much."

'The past month,' Herc thought, frowning...then looked over at Iolaus, who nodded, having come to the same conclusion. "Andros," Iolaus said, "He's been planning this ever since he left Corinth...he's more vindictive than we realized."

"What...?" began Leonides, again unable to follow their meaning.

"I'm sorry," Iphicles replied, "It's too complicated to explain quickly...we need to be on our way."

Leonides nodded, "Of course, you can leave the young lads here...we'll take good care of them." Turning to his aide, he continued, "Damian, show them the way to the quarry."

Hercules and Iolaus paused beside their sons before leaving the room.

"Dad," Nico started, a note of pleading in his voice, "we want to go with you..."

Hercules shook his head, "You have to wait for us here, you know that...and don't worry," Hercules tried to reassure them. "We won't be gone long...everything is going to be alright." He tossled his son's hair, touched him lightly on the shoulder as he glanced towards Orrie. Nico nodded...understanding his father wanted him to watch over the younger boy.

Iolaus went down on one knee, to give Orrie a quick hug, then pulled back to look into his son's eyes. "Herc's right, Orrie...don't be afraid...no one's going to get hurt..." Then, he continued with a wicked grin, "except, maybe, that miserable excuse for a soldier, Andros."

Orrie wanted to grin back, wanted to pretend everything was alright...but, Iphicles had said the man wanted to trade...wanted his father. Orrie reached out, touched his father's face, "Just, be careful," he whispered, "please...."

Iolaus nodded, "I will...I promise. Don't worry." Then, he stood, joining Hercules and Iphicles as they followed Leonides' aide from the room.

* * *

When the Corinthians left the City gates, they stopped again to speak with the Centurion, who was not happy at letting the Spartan leave with them.

Iphicles explained, "Your Governor has misinterpeted the actions of the Spartans. My son was assaulted and kidnapped last night by a madman, and the cadets were conducting a search of the city when your Governor saw them this morning. My son's kidnapper has sent a message, saying where we might make an exchange, and I need this man to lead me to the location."

The Centurion looked from the King to the others, read the tension in their bodies. His eyes lingered on Iolaus....he'd heard rumours about this man from some of the legionnaires who had come from Corinth shortly after the Tribune, Andros, had arrived...that he'd been crucified, and had not only lived, but showed no sign of the ordeal. Technically, he supposed he should arrest the man....but the Centurion suspected the gods were at work here and he had no desire to offend them. Plus, he knew the Governor was a fool, too easily influenced by that madman Andros..._madman_....ah...so that's who had taken the young Prince. This explained why the Tribune could not be found that morning, when the Governor had ordered their mobilization. Well, if that was the case, he wished the Greeks luck. Andros was no longer sane...it would be best if he never returned to his position of command.

Finally, nodding, the Centurion stood aside, waving to clear a path for them. "Good luck, Your Majesty... and I'll see the Governor learns the truth of what happened to your son."

Iphicles nodded, spurred his horse, and they galloped off along the road to the quarry.

* * *

Andros had dragged Iolaus from the cave, unceremoniously slinging him again over the back of the spare horse, tying him so that he would not slip to the ground. He'd given the lad nothing to eat or drink all day...and Iolaus was definitely feeling the worse for wear. His head still pounded, the wound over his ribs was still oozing blood, his mouth was dry, and his arms and legs ached from being tied too long. It had been a long day, having only a madman for company...and Iolaus was worried about what was going to happen next...wondered where he was being taken. Iolaus was afraid this man planned to kill his father.

They rode about two miles, down from the hills, until they reached the upper edge of an old abandoned quarry. Andros hobbled the horses out of sight under some trees, then dragged Iolaus to the edge of the quarry, throwing him to the ground. "Stay there...and don't make a sound," Andros ordered as he hunkered down behind a rock to wait.

If all went well, he'd kill them all...but, as a minimum, he knew he'd be able to kill the boy, the traitor, and Hercules...then escape with his horses before Iphicles could reach him. He grinned, anticipating his victory...tried to settle himself, calm himself. Revenge, he had heard, was a dish best served cold.

* * *

Iphicles, Hercules and Iolaus followed the aide, Damian, to the quarry, then indicated he should return to Sparta...they had been told to come alone, and did not intend to aggravate Iolaus' kidnapper. Damian wished them luck, then turned and rode away.

They left their horses on the rim of the quarry...the path was too uncertain to risk their mounts...and the horses would be no use in the pit of the old open mine. Cautiously, they made their way down the steep trail, careful in places where it had fallen away. They kept a wary watch, looking for signs of Iolaus and the crazy Tribune...they all had the sensation of being under observation...but, they could see nothing below them, or above, besides broken rock.

Andros was on the far side of the quarry from the direction in which he knew they'd come. He waited until they had arrived at the bottom...waited longer, to let their impatience and anxiety build. Scanning the area around, he verified that they had come alone.

From his position on the ground, Iolaus could not see over the rocky rim of the quarry to see who had arrived...but, he'd heard horses and knew they were no longer alone. 'Father,' he thought, 'please...please be careful!'

Finally, it was time...the moment Andros had longed for, planned for, imagined for weeks. The afternoon had faded into dusk, providing enough light to see his victims, but not so much that they'd be able to follow him if any escaped his vengence. He leaned over and grabbed Iolaus by the back of his collar, dragging him to his feet, almost choking him in the process. He drew his sword, held it conspicuously pointed at the boy's side, then waited until they looked up, noticed them. Young Iolaus' eyes scanned the quarry in front and below him...quickly spotted his father and uncles, just as they, alerted by the scrabbling sound of Andros dragging Iolaus to his feet, looked up and saw him. As one, they started forward.

"_HALT!_" yelled Andros, waving his sword in a menacing manner. "One step more and the boy is dead. I want the traitor to climb up here...the rest of you, stand back against the far wall where I can see you."

Iolaus looked first at Iphicles, saw the fear in his friend's eyes. "It'll be alright, Iph...I promise I'll get him back safely." Then, Iolaus turned to his oldest, best friend, but couldn't find any words. Hercules murmured, "Be careful, Iolaus...revenge can wait...just get yourself and young Iolaus away from him." Iolaus nodded, then turned to cross the quarry floor, and climb the uneven wall to the top. He would do anything in his power to save his namesake.

Andros watched him come, barely able to breathe in his excitement. His plan was to wait until Iolaus was in reach, then he would push the kid away, sweep his sword around and impale the traitor on it's length. Having done that, he would then turn and kill the boy. By then, the others would be coming at him...but, they had to climb the quarry walls, it would take time and he was above them...he could cut them down before they'd barely reached the top...Hercules would be far ahead of his mortal brother, so Andros would have time to kill him before having to deal with Iphicles....or, he could simply run...knowing he'd dealt Iphicles a life blow from which he'd never recover. He grinned...yes, perhaps it was better to let the peasant King live, live with his losses.

Andros had passed beyond all bounds of reason. He had forsaken his role as Tribune, would be an outcast, hunted...but he didn't care... he felt invincible. They could not harm him. He was their nemesis.

Andros pulled his hostage back a bit further from the rim of the quarry, giving the traitor room to scramble to the top, to stand and face him. He smiled as he contemplated the blond warrior. At last, he was here...finally, it would be done.

"Let the boy go," commanded Iolaus quietly.

Andros grinned... "Not until you come a little closer, my friend. It's been so long...I wish to greet you properly."

"Careful, Uncle...he's _crazy_," warned the Prince in a low voice.

Furious, Andros shook the boy, "_Silence!_" he shouted. Iolaus took a step toward him, but didn't rush, wary of the sword at the boy's side. When Andros just continued to wait for him, Iolaus walked slowly toward him, until he was only a few feet away. Andros nodded to himself, smiling gleefully, savouring the moment. Iolaus could see the madness in the man's eyes, chose to remain silent rather than excite him further...no telling what he'd do to the kid if he felt threatened. As Iolaus approached him, Andros felt compelled to share his plans, to gloat, so that he could see the fear in Iolaus' eyes, see him acknowledge his end was near...know that Hercules would also die.

"I'm going to kill you, you know...but, then, you should have already been dead many times over from what I hear...but, this will be the last time you die. And, you know why? Because I am going to also kill the one who brings you back....Hercules will join you in Tarturus."

Far from being made nervous by this, far from showing fear, Iolaus' eyes reflected his comtempt for this man, and his hatred. "Oh yeah?" he said quietly, "Well, better men than you...and more than one god... have tried to kill us....you won't win, Andros...give it up while you still can."

Andros sneered. "Ah, but you see, traitor, I have a bone dagger, carved from the rib of Chronos...and it is guaranteed to kill your friend, Hercules...if it's like the Hinds' blood, one nick will be enough to finish him...."

Andros had seen the flash of concern in Iolaus' eyes when he saw the dried blood staining the boy's shirt..and saw the flash again, when Andros explained how he would kill Hercules. In his insane joy, he laughed to see the fear and hatred he was generating, feeling overwhelming power...the power of a god who determines who will live and who will die. The Roman could feel the hate, revelled in it...his own, and the hate he sensed Iolaus felt for him. He grinned evilly, enjoying this moment, anticipating the next few minutes, when he would finally see Iolaus bleeding, dying at his feet.

They had both forgotten young Iolaus, forgotten that he was listening to all of this, forgot that he was an actor on this stage. They had both assumed he would stand quietly, allowing the men to take one another on, as if he was only a passive observer. But, young Iolaus was not passive...he cared desperately about his uncles, and was not about to simply stand by and watch this madman do his best to kill them, without trying to help, even if only in a small way. If he could distract Andros, perhaps he could buy Iolaus time. The youth never stopped to consider that there might be danger in this for him, danger in bringing Andros' wrathful attention back to him. He just knew he could not stand quietly as a hostage, being used against people he loved.

Suddenly, young Iolaus erupted, pulling away from the hand which held him, bravely turning to elbow Andros sharply, hoping to distract the man long enough for his uncle to overcome his captor. Andros reacted with unthinking fury, plunging his sword into the boy's side, shoving him roughly away as he turned to slash the sword at his enemy. Iolaus, cried out, horrified, when he saw the boy wounded, saw him fall, and then he was moving, driven by a primal anger so deep he howled like a wounded, caged animal, as he whirled, kicking out with all of his strength to knock the sword hand aside, and then kicking the Roman back, away from the fallen body of young Iolaus.

Andros staggered back, then snarled as he again slashed his sword at Iolaus, who had kept coming at him. Iolaus dropped under the slashing blade, and rolled, knocking Andros from his feet. Then, they were grappling together, rolling in the dust.

Below them, Hercules and Iphicles saw young Iolaus pushed aside, saw Iolaus attack and heard his anguished scream. They needed no other prodding to join the action above them on the quarry's edge. As one, they pounded across the quarry floor, and scrambled for hand and foot holds on the long climb to the top, Hercules easily outdistancing his brother.

Iolaus and Andros fought like demons, Iolaus reaching for the sword, while Andros tried to stab him, but a sword is not a good weapon for such close action...it's too long to maneovre easily. Iolaus' fury was fully unleashed...a match for the insane strength of the man with whom he grappled. They rolled across the top of the plateau, frighteningly close to it's edge, hitting, wrestling, trying for leverage. Finally, Iolaus prevailed when he kneed Andros, driving the wind from the man's lungs, stunning him for the moment Iolaus needed to straddle his chest, pinning Andros' arms beneath his knees. Iolaus tore the sword from Andros' hand and flung it far away, beyond the place where young Iolaus remained unmoving....Iolaus didn't know if the boy was alive or dead.

Overcome with fury and hate, Iolaus punched and pounded Andros unmercifully, not caring if he killed the man. This man had threatened their children, Nico, Orrie and now young Iolaus, he had threatened Hercules' life and found a weapon with the power to kill his best friend. He had had Iolaus himself nailed to a cross. Iolaus was blinded by his hate, by his desire to wreak his own retribution over this monster. Over and over, he pounded his fists into his enemy's face, cutting a lip, blackening an eye, smashing a cheekbone, until suddenly, his arms were grabbed from behind.

Hercules had made it to the top of the cliff ahead of Iphicles, but knew his brother was not far behind him and would see to young Iolaus. Not having seen Andros stab the youth, Hercules was unaware the boy was mortally wounded. However, seeing Iolaus beating the man, and believing Iolaus intended to kill him, Herc had moved immediately to pull his friend back, to defuse his rage. "_Enough, Iolaus_!" he cried, as he dropped to the ground behind his friend, grabbing Iolaus' arms with either hand, pulling him back, "It's over!"

Hercules had dragged Iolaus back far enough for one knee to lose it's effectiveness in pinning down Andros' arm. The maniac's hand snaked to his tunic, drew out the long, deadly bone dagger....Iolaus called out, "_Knife!_" as he tried to pull his arms loose, tried to lurch out of the way...but, Hercules, not seeing the action, not realizing what was happening, was holding him too tightly, his arms pinned against his sides, his body an open target. Andros plunged the knife deeply into Iolaus' body, laughing with his triumph, almost giddy with his joy. Iolaus felt the searing pain burn into him, groaned unconsciously when Andros twisted the blade before dragging it out.

Hercules heard his partner yell, "Knife!", felt Iolaus struggle, but it all happened too fast. Iolaus' body lurched under his hands as Hercules heard his friend groan. Herc had loosened his grip enough for Iolaus to dive forward, grappling for the dagger in Andros' hand, all the while yelling to Hercules, "_Cronus' rib dagger...will kill you, Herc!_"

Hercules heard the warning, realized the danger. Iolaus had a death grip on Andros' wrist, his other armed crossed down upon his assailant's throat. But, Iolaus' desperate bid to protect Hercules was handicapped by the severity of the wound he had just suffered. Andros snarled as he pushed Iolaus away with his other hand, punching hard into his body just over the wound. Iolaus gasped, his grip weakened, and Andros shoved him aside, scrambling to get out from under him. Hercules had been unable to intervene with Iolaus between him and Andros, but as Iolaus crumpled to the side, Hercules took up his fighting stance, preparing to kick out at Andros as the madman came at him...as he would, in his effort to drive the dagger home.

"_He's dead! I've killed him!!! And, you're next!_" Andros cackled madly as he threatened Hercules, his face distorted by a feral grin. Confident of his triumph, he lunged at Hercules, who pulled back and to the right, tripping Andros as he hurled past. Hercules chopped down hard on the arm bearing the knife, stunning the nerves in the hand, causing the dagger to drop to the ground between them. Andros twisted away from the blow, enraged that he had dropped his weapon and tried to stop his momentum, tried to regain his balance...but the madman had not noticed how close they were to the edge of the quarry. His momentum carried him forward, unable to get his balance, staggering, to the lip of the quarry...and over. Hercules lunged to grab him, to pull him back, but was too far away, and his hand closed on empty air. Andros screamed his fury as he hurled to the bottom...and then was silent. Hercules stared at the spot where Andros had been for a moment, then stooped to pick up the bloody dagger, slipping it carefully into his belt for safekeeping.

Iphicles had just reached the top, had seen the last of the action, saw Iolaus curled on the ground not far from Hercules, saw his son lying, too still, a few steps away. Alarmed, Iphicles raced to young Iolaus' side, afraid his son had been hurt...cried out inarticulately when he saw the blood pouring from the wound in the boy's side. Dropping to his knees, Iphicles pulled the youth up into his arms, touched his son's throat, seeking a pulse, almost sobbing in relief when he found it. "Easy, Iolaus," he murmured, as he pulled out his knife and cut his son's bonds... "You'll be alright..." Iphicles had to believe that...had to believe his son would live. Shaking, he looked toward Hercules.

After picking up the bone dagger, Herc had turned and knelt by Iolaus, afraid of what he would find...Iolaus had not moved since collapsing to the side, which meant he had been badly hurt. Herc carefully turned his friend, who moaned softly at being moved, saw the wound...the blood. Cradling Iolaus' shoulders in one arm, his friend's head resting against his chest, he pressed his other hand down upon the wound, trying to hold back the flow of blood, all the while whispering, "Gods, Iolaus...I'm sorry...I'm sorry..."

Iolaus looked up at Hercules, struggled weakly in his arms. "Iolaus," he whispered, "hurt...badly....help him." Confused for a moment, Herc didn't know what he meant, then he looked up, met his brother's horrified gaze, saw his nephew in his brother's arms. "_Help him_," Iolaus murmured again. Reluctantly, Hercules eased his friend back down onto the ground, then moved quickly to his brother's side.

"How bad is it?" asked Hercules, as he gently examined the boy, finally finding the deep wound in his side. Alarmed at the pool of blood which had already formed beneath the boy, Hercules raked the area with his eyes, as he ripped off the shirt under his vest, wadding it to press against his nephew's wound. In the fading light, he saw the horses hobbled just inside the forest line, beside a small, broken down shrine. It wasn't much...part of the roof had collapsed, but it was shelter. "Over there, just inside the trees, there are horses and a shrine. We need to carry them there...then, I'll check the horses, see if Andros brought any supplies with him that we can use to bind their wounds."

Hercules helped his brother stand while Iphicles held his son in his arms, keeping the wad of cloth pressed tightly against the wound until he positioned Iphicles' arm to maintain pressure on it while he carried his son to the shrine. Hercules then turned back to his friend, terrified by the sight of the blood pulsing from his partner's body. Kneeling, he gathered Iolaus into his arms, and stood to follow his brother toward the ruined shelter. "Is he...alive?" Iolaus whispered.

"Yes, for now...don't talk, Iolaus...save your strength," Hercules responded as he moved into the shadows of the trees. Reaching the old ruin, he carried Iolaus inside, laying him down near to where Iphicles was sitting, his son cradled in his arms.

Iph was white with fear, desperately afraid his son was dying. Herc turned and hurried to the horses, found a saddlebag. Tearing it open, he found a roll of bandages. Running back into the shelter, he unwound a long strip, then knelt, reaching around his nephew's body to wind the linen against the wadded material of his shirt, tying the bandage tightly across the boy's chest. Iphicles was trembling, in shock. When Hercules finished with the crude bandaging, Iphicles drew his son tight against his chest, staring into the boy's grey face, seeing the bluish tinge. His son was bleeding to death...the sword having done irreparable damage. Iphicles wept as he realized there was nothing he could do to save his son's life. It was only a matter of time. "Oh gods," he whispered, "Iolaus...please...I can't bear to lose you...please son...hold on......"

Hercules swivelled around to his partner, tearing yet another long strip of linen from the roll, he pressed the wad of cloth against the wound in his partner's body, vainly trying to stem the river of blood. Iolaus was still conscious...had watched Hercules tend to the youth...had heard Iphicles' desperate plea. "He's dying...isn't he?" he gasped softly. Herc looked into the painfilled eyes, saw the grief written there, nodded sadly. Iolaus closed his eyes, turning his head away as tears seeped down his face. "He tried...to distract Andros...buy me time....I couldn't...stop him...or Andros...couldn't save him....."

Hercules noted the white, pinched look of Iolaus' face, the bluish tinge around his lips. Keeping pressure on the wound with one hand, he reached with the other to brush Iolaus' hair back from his face, felt the cold, clamminess of his partner's skin. Gently, he eased his hand under Iolaus' neck, around his shoulders, then drew his friend up against his chest. Herc was afraid his nephew was not the only one dying here, in the dim light of the broken down shrine. Holding Iolaus against his own body, Hercules relived the bitter moments when he had grabbed Iolaus' arms, pulling him back, holding him tightly...knowing with a profound sense of guilt, that this was his fault. He had held Iolaus helpless while Andros had plunged the dagger into his best friend's body. Hercules shuddered as he listened to the ragged breathing of the wounded man in his arms and of the boy dying behind him. Shifting a little, he turned, drawing Iolaus with him, so that he could lean against the wall, and keep watch on his brother as well as his friend.

Hercules didn't want to leave...but he knew someone had to go for help. There were horses outside...it wasn't far to Sparta. He was thinking Iphicles could ride, carrying his son, and he could perhaps manage to mount, carrying Iolaus with him....maybe...then, he saw Iphicles stiffen, heard his brother moan as if his heart had broken. "_No, Iolaus...please, no....._" Iphicles bent over the lifeless, now silent body of his son, sobbing.

Hearing this, Iolaus whispered, "Oh gods, no...." and turned his head into Herc's chest as he too sobbed weakly at the death of this much loved innocent. "Iph...I'm sorry...." Hercules whispered, knowing the choked words were inadequate, knowing there was nothing which would ever alleviate his brother's pain. Iphicles had loved young Iolaus with a ferocious intensity...the boy was all he'd had left of his beloved Rena...and now, he'd lost his son as well. Hercules could not stop the tears in his own eyes from spilling onto his cheeks. Looking down at Iolaus, he saw the ragged wad of linen he pressed against the wound was soaked red....if they didn't get to help soon, his Iolaus would die, too.

Distracted by their grief, they did not notice they were no longer alone. Artemis gazed at the anguished men huddled in her ancient shrine with sorrow, wishing she could do more...wishing she and Athena had found a way to avert this tragedy, but they had not...they'd had no choice but to let it play out. Now, she could only help one...the one to whom she still owed a debt. Moving quietly to Hercules' side, she knelt beside him, gently drew his attention to her by placing her hand upon his. Startled, Herc looked up into his sister's eyes. "Artemis," he breathed, "what are you doing here?" Iolaus, startled by Herc's words, turned his head to look up at the goddess who kneeled beside them.

"You are in my shrine, Hercules, and I saw what was happening here. I still owe Iolaus a debt....I never accepted the trade of my debt to him for Nico's life...your son is my nephew, and you were all in the Grove at my request...I was bound to help your son. Now, I'm here to repay my debt to Iolaus." Looking over at the griefstricken, oblivious Iphicles who clutched his son's lifeless body to his breast, she murmured, "I only wish I could do more...."

"Artemis..." Iolaus gasped, "save the boy...bring him back...please...." Startled, Hercules looked down at Iolaus, wanting to protest...afraid that this time, his friend's generosity of spirit would cost him his life. Artemis gazed into Iolaus' eyes with great compassion and understanding. "Are you sure, Iolaus...you are gravely wounded...."

Iolaus nodded weakly, "I'm...sure...please...."

Artemis nodded slowly, turning her gaze toward the lifeless child in his father's arms. A light surrounded the boy, growing brighter against the deepening darkness around them. Iphicles shuddered, wondered what was happening, then felt his son move in his arms, heard his son draw breath. A strangled cry escaped his lips as he realized his son was alive. Young Iolaus stirred, opened his eyes, struggled to sit up. Confused, Iphicles held him while he checked the wound, found it had disappeared...as if it had never been. Helping his son to straighten up to sit beside him, Iphicles cast a wondering look toward Hercules, and seeing Artemis, realized she had restored his son's life. "Thank you," he whispered, tears glittering in his eyes as he kept an arm tightly around his son's shoulders.

Artemis shook her head as she gazed down at Iolaus. "It is not me who you should thank...Iolaus had demanded the restoration of your son's life, in return for a debt I owed him."

Hercules looked down at Iolaus, saw the faint smile on his partner's lips, as he sighed softly, closed his eyes. He looked pleadingly up at Artemis, but she shook her head. "I can't, Hercules...I owed him a debt...it's paid....I can't intervene further...no matter how much I might want to. I'm sorry....that was the _last_ debt still owing for the Rainbow Crystal...I can do no more for him...no god can intervene now."

"This was my fault...please, Artemis...I...I'd rather it be me...." Hercules whispered in a broken voice, wanting to trade his life for his friend's.

"No," murmured Iolaus, his voice a mere breath, "No, Herc...."

Artemis gazed sadly down upon Iolaus, rested her hand gently on his curls. "You chose well, Hercules, when you chose this man to be your friend....there is no better, on this earth." Reluctantly, she looked back into her brother's eyes. "I can't grant what you wish in your heart...I can't trade his life for yours. You must get him to help, quickly...he hasn't much time left." Hercules opened his mouth to protest, to demand she make the exchange, but she vanished before he could speak.

"_Artemis!_" he cried into the silence where she had been...but there was no response.

Young Iolaus, having realized his uncle had been badly hurt, pulled himself from his father's arms and scrambled over to kneel beside them.

"What happened," he murmured, "how did let himself be so badly hurt?" Young Iolaus could not believe his uncle had been overpowered by the crazy Roman, could not believe Iolaus was dying. Iphicles had stood and come to stand behind his son, a hand on his shoulder. "Ah, no...." he whispered, as he looked down upon his friend, saw the bloodsoaked linen under Herc's hand, the blood staining Iolaus' body and the ground beside him.

Iphicles had been so consumed by his fear and grief for his son, he had not fully realized how badly Iolaus had been injured. Nor did he know what had happened, having still been climbing the side of the quarry when Andros had stabbed Iolaus.

Herc looked up into his brother's eyes. "My fault," he whispered brokenly, tears blurring his eyes, spilling onto his cheeks, then his gaze shifted to look back down at his friend, "...I was holding him...he couldn't defend himself... my fault....."

Iphicles reached a steadying hand to Hercules' shoulder, "We've got to help him, Hercules...there's no time to waste."

Hercules continued to stare down into the waxen face of his friend. Hot blood pulsed through his fingers, staining his hand, dripping to the ground beneath. His friend's face was grey, his skin cold to the touch, his breathing raspy, weak...Iolaus was barely conscious, barely able to hold on. "Iolaus...please....don't let go...._Iolaus_...." he begged.

"I could help him...for a price." Hercules skin crawled at the sound of his brother's voice. Looking up at Ares, he waited to hear what the God of War had to say. Iphicles and young Iolaus froze in alarm...they both knew this god was both unpredictable and dangerous. Ares sauntered across the ruined temple floor, kicking away cracked pieces of mosaic and masonry. Ares had been disgusted with Andros' failure, and the loss of the blade to his much loathed brother. "I'll make you a deal, Hercules....Iolaus' life for the dagger."

Hercules froze. This was one of those impossible choices. If he gave Ares the dagger, his powermad brother would kill any god who stood in his way. If he didn't, Iolaus would quite probably die. Herc felt a light touch on the hand he was pressing down on Iolaus' wound, then a firmer pressure as Iolaus gripped his hand. Iolaus turned his face to Ares, as he responded, his voice weak, but defiant, "_Go to Tarturus, Ares...no deal._"

Ares' lips curled into a snarl. "Gods, Curly, don't you ever get tired of being noble? You know, I could just _take_ it," Ares growled as he raised a fist threateningly.

Hercules pulled his hand from under Iolaus', reached into his belt and drew the dagger out, holding it protectively over Iolaus' body, pointed at his brother. "You could try, Ares...but, then I would kill you."

Ares looked at Hercules with disgust. "Hercules...you've never cared about the gods...why would you care now what use I might make of that dagger?"

"I'll not let you have more power, Ares...you abuse what you already have....I _won't_ give you more...."

Ares smirked as he accepted he would not win this round. "So, you'll kill your best friend twice over....I hope you'll be happy with your decision, when it's too late to change your mind."

Herc shuddered, but made no response. Just held Ares' eyes with his own...and Ares could see the price Hercules was paying for his decision...the pain mingled with the anger...the guilt. Ares laughter echoed around the shrine after he had disappeared.

Iolaus coughed, blood staining his lips. It was hard to breathe. The pain lanced through his chest and abdomen, hot, sharp, relentless. He could hear Herc's voice, calling to him, felt Herc's hand again press down upon his wound, trying to stem the bleeding, felt Herc gather him closer against his chest. Struggling to focus, to reach beyond the pain, and the strange cold which was overtaking him, Iolaus looked up into the face of his best friend, saw the raw, naked anguish in Hercules' eyes. He heard Hercules say again, "I'm sorry, Iolaus...my fault...." Heard the sound of grief, pain...and guilt.

"_No_," Iolaus whispered, fighting for breath, "_accident....not....your....fault...._" He coughed again, bringing the sharp metallic taste of blood, as his body convulsed in agony. Iolaus felt Hercules hold him close, felt the warmth of his friend's chest and arms...heard his friend's wrenching sobs...wanted to comfort...wanted to say...so much....too hard. His body struggling to hold onto life, fighting to keep breathing, Iolaus felt himself drifting... "Herc," he whispered once, then, "...Orrie...." before he lost consciousness.

* * *

Iphicles had no idea what that whole exchange had been about...why would Ares want the dagger...and why wouldn't Hercules just give it him, if it meant it would save Iolaus' life. Iph gazed at his brother, took in the heartwrenching grief, was torn by the sobs...and understood that, in part at least, this was happening because Iolaus had elected to save his namesake's life, rather than his own. Iphicles was determined to do all he could to help keep Iolaus alive. Casting around, he spotted the roll of linen. Grabbing it, he tore a large section, wadding it into a new dressing which he pressed under Hercules' hand, taking the bloody linen which Herc had been holding, casting it aside. He pulled another, longer strip, tore it off, then knelt to wrap it around Iolaus' body, to hold the rough dressing in place.

Finished with the bandage, Iph stood, pulling at Hercules' shoulder. "Hercules, you'll have to carry him...come on...we need to get him back to Sparta!"

Numbly, Herc nodded, gathered Iolaus into his arms, and stood to follow his brother out of the ruined shrine to the horses beyond. Iphicles held Iolaus while he mounted, then handed the slight, limp body up into his brother's arms, while young Iolaus unhobbled the horses. Iphicles mounted the other horse, drawing his son up to perch behind him, his son's arms looped around his body.

The hasty dressing was again soon stained a deep crimson, sodden with Iolaus' blood. The warrior was barely breathing, each breath a wispy, halting gasp. Blood bubbled on his lips. Herc could feel the chill settling in his partner's body, pulled him closer, vainly trying to keep him warm, as they rode as quickly as they could back to the City.

Finally, they clattered through the city gates, not even noticing the Romans were no longer surrounding the walls. It was dark, late...the streets were deserted. They headed directly to the King's residence. As soon as they had arrived, Iphicles dropped to the ground, followed by his son, and hastened to help Hercules dismount. Hercules refused to relinquish his friend as he slipped from the back of the horse, held steady by his brother's grasp.

The door of the residence was thrown open, light streaming out, surrounding them. Leonides had been watching for them, and strode out now to meet them, his face revealing his regret at seeing Iolaus in Hercules' arms. "Come with me!" he called, turning back inside, yelling for the healer. They mounted the steps, entered the building...followed Leonides down the long hall into a room on the left. There was a bed there, a fire burning in the hearth. Hercules moved into the room, laying Iolaus carefully down upon the bed. The healer rushed in, saw the injured man and strode to the other side of the bed; bending over Iolaus, he lifted the bandage, examined the wound. Frowning, he pursed his lips, then turned to rummage in the bag he had carried in with him.

"We have to stop the bleeding," he muttered, as he pulled an iron spatula from the bag. Holding it by it's wooden handle, he turned quickly to the fire, holding the instrument in the flames until it glowed red. He turned back to the bed, ordering briskly, "Hold him," and waited only long enough for Hercules to take his friend's shoulders and for Iphicles to take a grip on the man's legs. Then, he laid the redhot spatula against the wound, filling the room with the sickening stench of burning flesh. Iolaus unconsciously cried out, his body arcing against the agony of the burning metal...but the brothers held him firmly.

Young Iolaus stood by the door, sickened by his uncle's torment, by the smell. Turning away, brushing tears from his eyes, he was startled to see two boys standing just outside the door, staring into the room. The younger boy was sobbing...the older one holding him tightly.

Iolaus moved to kneel in front of them. "Shh," he murmured as he touched the smaller boy's shoulder, "they'll do all they can to help him." The boy looked up at him with tearfilled eyes. "You must be Prince Orestes," Iolaus said, then turned to the taller lad, "and you must be my cousin, Nico...I'm Iolaus."

Nico nodded at him, then looked past his shoulder back into the room. "Orrie's scared," he said quietly, still hugging the younger boy. "He's afraid his dad is going to die...."

"His 'dad'?" Iolaus repeated, startled as he looked again at Orrie. "Iolaus is your father?"

Orrie nodded, sniffing, trying to stop crying. "How badly is he hurt?" he asked tremulously.

Iolaus didn't know what to say...he didn't want to tell the boy the truth...but, he didn't want to lie, either. Shrugging helplessly, he responded softly, "It's pretty bad...but, Iolaus is a very strong man...he's survived being badly hurt before. He won't give up."

"I want to see him," whispered the child, pulling away from Nico's supportive hold on him.

Iolaus nodded, stood and turned to let the child precede him into the room.

Orrie walked slowly toward the bed, never taking his eyes from the man lying upon it. He moved between King Iphicles and Hercules, reaching up to lay his small hand over his father's. Hercules knelt beside him, put a steadying arm around him. Looking around, he saw his own son's drawn face, pale in the flickering light of the fire. Herc tilted his head, beckoning Nico to come forward. Nico crossed the room as if he was walking on eggshells. He'd seen the look on his father's face, knew what it meant. Iolaus might not make it. Nico had been trying very hard not to cry, trying to stay strong for Orrie's sake, but, he loved Iolaus, and he was scared. He blinked furiously, trying to force back the tears in his eyes, as he reached his father's side and looked across his shoulder at the man lying so still on the bed. He bit his lip, wondering if he dared ask another favour of his grandfather.

Hercules could read the look in his son's eyes...could guess what he was thinking. "Zeus can't always help when you ask him, Nico...."

Startled, Nico looked back into his father's eyes. "I _have_ to ask," he whispered.

Herc sighed, looked away, knowing it would do no good. He'd been silently pleading with Zeus all the way back to Sparta...but, his father had not answered. Turning back to his son, Hercules shook his head, "I don't think he'll answer this time....Nico...you and Orrie need to go to bed...it's late. Iolaus needs to rest quietly, needs to use all of his strength to get well...we don't want to disturb him." Both boys looked up at him, rebellion in their eyes. They didn't want to go. Hercules persisted, his voice firm, "I promise, I'll come for you if he gets worse...but...you have to go now."

Orrie and Nico looked back at Iolaus, reluctantly nodded, then turned to leave the room. At the door, Orrie turned back, "You promise?" he demanded. When Herc nodded, he sighed, not really believing him, then turned and followed Nico into the hall beyond, heading to the chamber King Leonides had assigned to them.

Young Iolaus watched them go, then moved to stand beside his father. They watched as the healer finished bandaging the wound. The young Prince leaned against his father, desperately worried for his uncle, desperately hoping he would be alright.

* * *

The hours dragged by. Finally, young Iolaus asked the question which had been plaguing him. "Why am I alright?" he asked his father. "Andros stabbed me...I know he did. How...."

Iphicles turned to his son. "Artemis came...she healed you."

Iolaus frowned. He had not understood what had happened in the shrine, had not understood the discussion between Hercules and Artemis...or between Hercules and Ares. "But, then, why didn't she heal Iolaus, too?"

Iphicles looked over at Hercules, then turned back to his son. Iolaus wasn't a child anymore...he deserved to know the truth of his uncle's gift to him. "Artemis owed a debt to Iolaus...a life. You...you had died. Iolaus asked Artemis to exchange her debt to him for your life. She agreed...but, having repaid Iolaus what she owed him, she could do no more. This was his choice, son...Iolaus _chose_ to save _your_ life."

The young prince trembled as his father's words sank in. He'd died? He didn't remember....oh gods, why did this have to have happened...he didn't know if he wanted to be alive...if this was the cost. Tears blinded him as he struggled to stifle a sob. Iphicles pulled his son into his arms. "Don't...don't feel guilty, son....your uncle wouldn't want you to be sorry to be alive. He wanted this...wanted to make this trade. He loves you, Iolaus." Iph continued to hold his son while young Iolaus cried softly, silent tears streaming down his cheeks.

Iolaus seemed to be getting worse, weaker by the moment. They waited, in silence, each listening to the halting, painful breaths.

Iphicles was griefstricken. He loved the blond hunter...couldn't believe this was happening, that there was nothing they could do but watch him die. Iph tightened his grip around his son's shoulders...Iolaus had not hesitated to exchange the debt owed to him for the young Prince...anymore than he had questioned the need to put his own life in danger by agreeing to exchange himself for Iolaus when Andros demanded that as the ransom...thoughtless of his own safety...willing as always to put his own life on the line for someone else. 'Gods, please, someone...please help him,' Iph prayed hopelessly, knowing the gods didn't care... wouldn't listen. He was unaware of the tears which streamed down his face.

Young Iolaus could hardly grasp the horror of what was happening. Because of his uncle, he was safe. If he'd paid more attention to the Tribune who had stalked him...if he'd been more careful...if he hadn't struggled with the man on the hill above the quarry...maybe this would never have happened. He shuddered with his grief...he loved his uncle, worshipped him. He had always been in awe of Iolaus' courage, and skill. But, more than that, he had always been caught by his uncle's sheer joy in living....his openness to new experiences, his capacity to ignore things that didn't matter, find the fun in any situation. It was the lessons he had learned from Iolaus which had enabled him to adapt so well to the environment in Sparta, had helped him to see past the strangeness to what he could learn...to find friends whose company he could enjoy. It seemed impossible that this vibrant, exciting, brave, amazing man could be dying in front of him.

Sitting on a stool beside the bed, his head resting upon his arms crossed on the thin, straw mattress, Hercules was lost in a fog of guilt and anguish. Over and over, his memory replayed those fateful moments, when he had gripped Iolaus' arms, pulling him back, holding him too tightly for his friend to defend himself...holding him while that bastard plunged a dagger into him. Because of him, Iolaus had been helpless before the assault. Hercules would do anything to take back those moments...he'd give his own life, gladly...if only....Hercules bit his lip, holding back his sobs, listening with his whole being to the ragged breaths, willing Iolaus to live...to not leave him....he couldn't bear it....

And, then, there was just silence.

"_Iolaus!_" Hercules cried in desperation. Grabbing his friend, he pulled him up into his arms. Shaking the body of his friend, Herc urged, "Come on, Iolaus, _breathe_...please...please don't do this....Iolaus...." But, Iolaus was limp and cold in his arms. Iolaus was gone.

"_NOOOOO!!!!!_" screamed Hercules, his heart breaking, his soul wrenched apart....Iolaus was part of him, part of his soul...he couldn't be gone...not like this...not now.... "_Nooooo......_" Herc moaned again, as he pulled Iolaus to him, bending over the body of his friend, hugging him tightly against his chest, his chin resting on the blond curls. Wracked by sobs he could no longer contain, Hercules shuddered with his grief, murmuring again to himself, "My fault, Iolaus....my fault....._No!_" he raged suddenly, pulling back, staring at his partner's waxen features, "_No! I won't let you go!_"

Laying Iolaus back down on the bed, Hercules leaned over him, cupped Iolaus' head with his hands, then covered Iolaus' mouth with his own, breathing air, breathing life, back into his partner's body. Again, again, and then once more, then again...until, finally, Iolaus gasped and began to breathe again on his own. Shallowly, raggedly, but _alive_. Hercules shifted onto the bed, raising Iolaus' shoulders to rest against his chest to try to help his partner breathe more easily.

Iph moved to wrap his arm around Hercules' shoulders. "I'm sorry, Hercules...I'm so sorry....." he whispered, believing this was only a brief respite, that they would not be able to hold onto Iolaus, no matter how much they wanted him to live, no matter how often Hercules breathed life back into him.

Hercules pressed his eyes closed...he'd known this day would come...the day he'd pay this price for his own life, the night he'd been pulled from the giant oyster...that Iolaus would pay the price in blood. Herc didn't know Zeus had healed Iolaus on the boat from Italy, as much because he carried the debt Athena had owed Iolaus for his act in retrieving the Rainbow Crystal, as in response to his grandson's fervent request.

_'Oh gods, Iolaus,'_ Herc's spirit wailed, _'I can't stand this....I need you....please...you have to live...you have to....'_

"He needs more help than you can find here, Hercules," a steady, calm voice stated.

Startled, Hercules lifted his head, saw Athena standing across the room. She nodded solemnly at him, then moved to stand on the other side of the bed. Iphicles, and his son, regarded her with awe, and desperate hope. Surely she was here to save Iolaus' life.

Gazing at each of them, she read the hope in their eyes. Shaking her head, she stated, "I don't have the right to make him well....it's against the rules."

"Dammit, then _why_ are you here?" demanded Hercules, sick to death of the wretched rules which governed the gods, denying them the right to interfere with mortals...they interfered regularly, as far as Herc could see, except, it seemed, when they were most needed.

Athena returned his look of outrage with unnerving calm. "I cannot heal him...but, I may be able to give him time, a chance to survive until you can get him to the help he needs...and, I can help you get him closer to that help." Turning to Iphicles, she commanded him, "Go...get the children. Bring them here." Iphicles strode from the room, unquestioning of her command, anxious to do anything which might save the hunter's life.

Placing a hand over Iolaus' wound, Athena turned back to Hercules as she continued, "I have owed Iolaus a debt for his help in retrieving the Pearl of Wisdom...not a debt so great that I can save his life, but I can help, if only a little."

A moment later, she withdrew her hand. "He is bleeding inside...the knife tore the spleen, ripped through the muscle between his abdomen and chest, and nicked a lung. Without the proper care, he will die. You must get him to Aesclepius. No one else has the skill to help him now...but you must hurry. There is not much time...Hades will not be denied much longer. I will transport the two of you, and the others, to the nearest of my shrines to Epidaurus...you must get him the rest of the way. When you arrive there, you will find horses to help speed your journey."

Iolaus' breathing had eased, his colour was a bit better, white now rather than bluish grey. Hercules trembled with relief and gratitude..._it wasn't over yet, there was still hope_. Dragging in a deep breath, almost a sob, he whispered brokenly, "Thank you, Athena....I..."

Overcome, he could say no more...but, she was already speaking again, cutting him off. "Hercules, there is one more thing. Artemis and I have hidden the dagger now in your belt for centuries...it cannot be destroyed by a god. Given that it was the cause of Iolaus' wound, no god can heal him, no matter whether Artemis wanted to, or Ares promised to....the power of the dagger is stronger than our powers. Not even you can destroy it. You must have a mortal smash it, then burn the remains, so that it can never be reconstituted."

"Aesclepius....?" Hercules' physician cousin was the son of Apollo, and therefore semidivine....given what Athena had just said, he was unsure if or how Aesclepius could help Iolaus.

Athena shrugged, "The accident of timing, Hercules...Aesclepius recently offended Zeus, with the result that all of his godly powers were stripped from him again. He is once more fully mortal...so he can be of help to you."

Herc sighed as he closed his eyes, desperate to hold onto any hope given him that Iolaus might yet be saved. Just then, Iphicles hustled the boys into the room in front of them. Obviously still half asleep, alarmed at having been rousted out of their beds, they stopped and stared in amazement at the goddess. Hercules shifted off the bed, keeping one arm around Iolaus' shoulders, while he slipped the other under his knees, lifted him and turned to face his sister. Not wasting any time in formalities, Athena drew an arc in the air with her hand, encompassing them all within it's span....and they all disappeared from the room.

* * *

They found themselves in the dim shadows of a small, candlelit shrine. Hercules carried Iolaus outside, in search of the horses Athena had promised...and to try to figure out just exactly where they were. He could hear Iolaus' rasping, laboured breaths...and he could feel a telltale wetness against his skin...Iolaus' wound had broken open and he was bleeding again, heavily. Standing in the night, he soon realized where they were...not five miles from Jason's Academy.

Turning to Iphicles, Herc murmured softly, not wanting to alarm the boys, "Iolaus wouldn't last a long ride, Iph...we're close to the Academy, so I'll take him there, while you ride to Epidaurus and get Aesclepius... tell him...tell him I beg him to come...that Iolaus is dying....that no one else can help him...."

Iphicles nodded, then took Iolaus from Hercules while his brother mounted, then handed the slight, limp form up into Herc's arms. Then, Iphicles turned, getting the boys mounted, putting Orrie up in front of his son, Iolaus. Despite his distraction, he noticed that young Orrie seemed strangely composed, no longer appearing to be afraid for his father. Iphicles thought this odd, but spent no time to ponder it further. Leaping onto his own mount, he said, "I'll be back within a couple of hours, Hercules...I promise I'll have Aesclepius with me, if I have to bind him hand and foot and drag him to the Academy. Boys, you do everything Hercules askes of you...help him in anyway you can." With that, Iphicles wheeled his horse and pounded into the night.

Hercules and the others turned their mounts toward the Academy, moving at a much slower pace, in an effort to save Iolaus further injury. Young Iolaus, with Orrie, rode close on one side of Hercules, while Nico rode on his other side, so that they could all keep an eye on Iolaus. Orrie, broke the silence, asking unexpectedly, "How soon will it be before my Dad is better, Hercules?"

Herc looked over at the child, saw the confident, unquestioning expression on the boy's face, and felt chilled. "Orrie...your Dad is very badly hurt...we'll do all we can, but...."

Orrie flared, his Prince persona coming fully to the fore. "Don't pretend, Hercules...I know that even if you can't save his life, I saw the goddess Athena...and I know she is helping us...she won't let my Dad die...I know she won't. And, even if she won't help, then you could send for Anna, the Spirit Healer...she could save Dad, I know she could."

Hercules did not want to destroy the boy's hopes, but the child had to understand there were no guarantees that his father would live...that no gods or goddesses were going to miraculously save him. Taking a breath, Herc hugged Iolaus tightly against him, as he replied in as calm a tone as he could manage, "Orrie, please...try to understand...Athena helped us by bringing us here, closer to the physician who may be able to help Iolaus...Iphicles has gone to get him...his name is Aesclepius and he is my cousin. But, he is not a god...he can not work miracles. The weapon that hurt your father has power greater than any god...they cannot help him even if they wanted to. That's why Anna can't help either...her power is from the gods, she is a demigoddess...the dagger's power is greater than her's."

Orrie shook his head stubbornly, not accepting the cautions Herc was giving him. "I don't believe you...the gods must love my father....they are always helping you save his life, or bring him back to life...I know they won't let him die. It doesn't matter what you say." Orrie turned his head away, a signal he did not want to hear more, would not listen to more.

Hercules looked at the boy with despair. He could feel Iolaus' life blood flowing against his skin, he could hear the effort it was costing Iolaus to breathe...knew his friend was growing weaker and weaker. Hercules was terrified Iolaus might not last long enough for Aesclepius to arrive, to work whatever wonders he could to save his best friend. Orrie would never forgive him if Iolaus died...would never trust him again. Hercules sighed. If Iolaus died, he would never forgive himself. He caught the understanding look of compassion in young Iolaus' eyes before he turned away. He could feel his own son staring at him, but could do no more than stare straight ahead, fighting the tears which burned in his eyes. In the silence of his own heart, he wanted Orrie to be right, wanted to believe Iolaus would live...and so he could not voice any further cautions, cautions which only heralded the death of the man he loved best in the world.

The sun was just cresting above the hills to their right when they rode over the last hill and saw the Academy in the valley below.

* * *

Jason and Lilith had been expecting them to arrive today...had been preparing for the family Solstice celebration for a week, decorating the hall, wrapping gifts, cooking delectable treats, and were up before the dawn to make the final preparations. While they had not expected them quite this early, when they heard the horses clatter into the courtyard of the Academy, they dashed out to greet them, their faces wreathed in smiles, until they saw the grim, drawn faces, and Iolaus cradled in Hercules' arms.

"By the Gods, Hercules, what's happened?" cried Jason, as he ran to help Hercules slip from the horse's back without letting go of Iolaus. Jason saw his friend's grey visage, heard the ragged breathing, took in the stained bandage as he steadied Hercules. Iolaus was in bad shape.

Herc moved past Jason, quickly heading directly to their usual chamber, wanting to get Iolaus settled, needing to try to stem the renewed bleeding. "The Tribune who kidnapped our kids," he said over his shoulder to Jason, who was trailing close behind, "took young Iolaus hostage, demanding Iolaus in exchange." They had mounted the steps and were moving into the main building which housed the guest chambers. Inside, Jason offered to ride straightaway to retrieve the Golden Fleece from Corinth. From the look of him, it was all that might help Iolaus now.

Wearily, Hercules shook his head. "It wouldn't work, Jason. The dagger that wounded Iolaus was crafted from the rib of the Titan, Cronus...it has the power to kill gods...it's power is greater than that of the gods, or of the objects they have imbued with power...." Hercules turned away, heading down the corridor, then up the dim staircase to the chamber he and Iolaus used whenever they stayed here.

* * *

Lilith watched them go, then turned to the boys. Young Iolaus, of course, she already knew. The small, obviously distraught child in his arms must be Iphicles' young ward, Prince Orestes, from Attica. The other, taller child, must be Hercules' son, Nico. Taking Orrie from Iolaus, she set the boy on the ground, a hand resting on his shoulder while she waited for the other two to join them. Turning to the senior guard, she directed him to take the mounts to the stables. Then, she turned to the boys, concern evident in her eyes.

"You must all be exhausted. Come in, we'll get you something to eat." She guided Orrie gently as she continued, "My name is Lilith, and Jason and I have been looking forward to seeing you...you must be Nico," she said as they climbed the steps, and looking down at the child under her strong, reassuring hand, she said, "and you must be Prince Orestes."

The boys nodded but didn't speak. They were past the point of exhaustion, numb, only their fear for Iolaus keeping them on their feet, focused on their desperate hope that he would somehow be alright. Lilith glanced back at Iolaus, who was trailing them...could see that he, too, was on the edge of collapse. She bustled them directly into the kitchen, settling them in chairs by the fire to warm them, while she swiftly set about ladling out the soup she had been simmering in a cauldron over the flames.

They weren't hungry, didn't want to eat, but she forced them to try, relieved when she saw some colour come back into their faces. "Now," she directed, settling onto a stool beside them, "tell me what has happened."

* * *

Utterly dismayed, weighed down with fear for Iolaus' life, Jason had turned aside, to fetch a basin of water and a roll of bandages, before following Hercules up the stairs to the guest chambers above. When he arrived in the room, he found Hercules had laid Iolaus on one of the beds in the room they always shared when they visited here, and was unwrapping the linen from around Iolaus' body.

Jason handed his friend a dampened cloth, watched as he bathed the wound, cleaning it...winced when he saw the blackened, blistered evidence of the cauterization the night before, then handed Hercules a thick wad of linen to use as a clean dressing, while he helped wind a new strip of linen around Iolaus' body, to hold the dressing in place. They worked silently, intent upon the unconscious man under their hands.

Once they had finished, Hercules slipped an arm under Iolaus' shoulders, then eased onto the bed, to sit behind his friend to support him in a semiupright position. Iolaus' breathing was rapid and shallow, rasping as he fought for enough air. His body was cold and clammy. Jason turned, poured some fresh water from a pitcher on the bureau in the corner into a mug, then handed it to Hercules. "Here, try to get some of this into him....he needs to replace some of the fluids he has lost from hemorraging."

Hercules gratefully took the small cup, tipped it against Iolaus' lips, dribbling a little at a time into his partner's throat until Iolaus coughed, unconsciously turning his head away. Jason took the mug, set it down, then drew a chair over, to sit beside the bed. Taking one of Iolaus' limp hands into his own, he said quietly, "Tell me what happened, Hercules."

Herc tore his eyes away from Iolaus' face, to gaze into Jason's. Jason read the pain, and the guilt. He didn't give the guilt much credence...Hercules always felt responsible when Iolaus was hurt. But, as he listened, he realized this time was different. This time, if Iolaus didn't survive, Hercules would never, ever, be able to forgive himself.

Herc stumbled through the story of the kidnapping and rescue, stammering as he told how he had been pulling Iolaus back, holding him helpless, while the Roman had taken his revenge. "It's my fault," Hercules whispered, looking back down at Iolaus. "I've done this to him."

Jason snorted. "Hercules, that's nonsense and you know it. You were trying to keep Iolaus from killing the man...it was the Roman who did this to Iolaus, not you. _It was an accident_. I'm sure Iolaus knows that."

Herc, remembering Iolaus' words from the day before, almost his last words, before he'd fallen into unconsciousness, nodded reluctantly. Accident or not, Iolaus wouldn't be lying here like this, barely alive, if Hercules hadn't pinned his arms, keeping him from defending himself.

Herc looked back at Jason, told him how they had almost lost Iolaus during the night, and about how Athena had appeared to buy them time. "Iphicles has gone for Aesclepius. They should be here soon."

Jason nodded as he stood. "Then, I'd better get busy. If I know Aesclepius, he'll want plenty of boiling water, lots of candles to give him light while he works, and we'll need more bandages." Jason took a last glance at Iolaus, frowning with his own worry, then strode purposefully from the room.

Hercules wrapped his arms tightly around the man who lay in front of him, resting against his chest. Tilting his head forward, so that his cheek brushed lightly against Iolaus' hair, Herc whispered, "Hang on, Iolaus...you _promised_ me you wouldn't let go...._don't you give up on me now...._" Exhausted by his worry, from lack of sleep, Hercules was unaware of the tears which rolled down his face, dampening the hair of the man he held in his arms.

* * *

It was more than an hour later before Lilith could gently bully the boys into their beds. They were overwrought, hardly able to stand, clearly beyond exhaustion. While they resisted her, resisted the idea of sleeping until they knew what was happening to Iolaus, she knew they would be asleep in moments, unable to stay awake any longer, no matter how much they might want to. Shaking her head, she ached with her sorrow for them...young Iolaus, feeling guilty, no matter what anyone said to him; Nico, his eyes wide, trying to be grown up and brave; Orrie, eerily certain that his father would be fine, refusing to listen to either Nico or young Iolaus when they tried to explain to him that there were no guarantees, that he had to be prepared for the worst. He shouted at them that they were wrong...and they didn't have the heart to fight with him further. Lilith had hidden her surprise when she'd heard Iolaus referred to as Orrie's father by all of them...as if it was common knowledge...time enough to learn Orrie's story later. She stretched aching muscles, tense from her own worry and sorrow for her old friend. She was heading back to help Jason in the kitchen, when she heard horses out in the yard.

Iphicles had arrived with Aesclepius. The physician, Hercules' cousin, had wasted no time when he heard Hercules had sent for him, and why. Grabbing his bag of instruments, he had followed Iphicles from his hospital in the hills of Epidaurus, and had ridden like one of the Furies, to the Academy gates. Now, he leapt from his horse, striding toward the large building in front of him. Lilith and Jason had arrived in the doorway as he mounted the stairs, followed by Iphicles. "Take me to him...and bring hot water, lots of candles...."

"This way," directed Jason, "everything's ready for you."

"Good," snapped Aesclepius shortly, as he made his way up the dim staircase.

Arriving in the room, he moved immediately to the bed, removing the bandage, examining the wound. He touched Iolaus' face, noted the clamminess signifying Iolaus was in shock, the bluish colour of his skin and the rasping, uneven, shallow breaths, signifying the man was in extremis. The physician was afraid he might be too late. Aesclepius cast a swift glance up at Hercules before he turned to pull his instruments out of his bag, dropping them into the steaming hot water Jason had poured into a basin on a table he had placed near the bed. Nodding with satisfaction at the preparations, pleased by the brightness cast by the myriad candles Jason had lit around the room, Aesclepius turned back to Hercules. "Leave us," he said, preemptorially. "There's nothing you can do to help, and you'll only be in the way."

"No," was all Hercules responded. His tone, flat, uncompromising.

Aesclepius stared at his cousin. He knew this man well. Arguing with him would only waste precious time. Nodding impatiently, he said, "Alright...but stand over there," he waved to a corner beside a window, "and stay out of the way."

"I want to help," argued Hercules.

This time Aesclepius shook his head, as he turned to pull the instruments from the basin, drying them with a square of previously boiled, dry linen he had pulled from his bag. "What I have to do will terrify you... and your fear will not only be distracting...it may lead you to try to stop me. Either stand there where I've told you, or get out of the room. Your choice." Without waiting for Hercules to respond, Aesclepius turned to Iphicles, Jason and Lilith. "You," he said to Jason and Iphicles, "will have to hold him down...this will be long, and painful...even unconscious, he is bound to struggle. And you," he said, turning to Lilith, "will help me....you'll need to hold these instruments," he held up two long pieces of metal, curved at one end, "once I have opened the wound, these retractors will hold the edges of the wound apart, allowing me to see what I'm doing." The three nodded grimly, not looking forward to what was coming, but not shying away from it either. Meanwhile, Hercules had extricated himself from behind Iolaus, carefully laying his inert friend down upon the bed, then moved to stand where Aesclepius had ordered him. If anyone could save Iolaus' life, it was his cousin and Herc knew it...he wasn't about to distract Aesclepius with further argument.

Satisfied, Aesclepius turned, picked up a short, sharp blade, and some linen. Holding the blade firmly, he drew a deep line through the ragged edges of the wound, cutting through skin and muscle, using the linen to mop up the blood which spilled from the wound, to clear the area, enabling him to see. Laying the blade down, he picked up the long retractors, positioned them in the wound, pulling the edges of it apart, revealing the bloody, pulsing organ below. "That's the spleen," he muttered, as he indicated Lilith should take hold of the two long pieces of metal. "It will have to come out." The others all gasped at his words. They'd never witnessed a treatment like this...had never seen the body opened, an organ removed. Aesclepius ignored them, reaching again for the blade, while his other hand placed long thin strings close beside him on the bed. "Hold him tightly...if he lurches at the wrong time, he'll die," Aesclepius ordered, then bent to his task, as Jason and Iphicles continued to lean over Iolaus' body, pressing his shoulders and legs down upon the bed.

Hercules had moved so that he could see over Aesclepius' shoulder, and was sick with fear as he watched his cousin work. Aesclepius reached into the wound with his hands, manipulating the organ until he found the large, pulsing vessels he was seeking, one bluish, the other bright red. Working briskly, his experienced fingers steady and nimble, he tied off first the artery, then the vein. Finished, he took up the blade and sliced the vessels away from the organ, swearing softly as the cavity welled with blood pouring from the spleen, blocking his view. He mopped up the blood as best he could with the linen, while he continued to free the organ from it's place in Iolaus' body. It was difficult, delicate work...and he needed to move quickly. This invasion of the body led to deep shock, and created a huge danger of infection...the sooner he was done, and the wound closed, the better.

Hercules swallowed the bile in his throat, almost gagging, when he saw Aesclepius pull a bloody lump of tissue from Iolaus' body and unceremoniously drop it on the floor. His fingers twitched unconsciously as he fought his desire to stop this invasion and mutilation of his friend's body...terrified of what Aesclepius was doing, desperately afraid his cousin's actions would only hasten Iolaus' death...knowing this was _exactly_ why Aesclepius hadn't wanted him here. Jason and Iphicles had turned their heads, unable to watch....besides, it took all of their strength and attention to keep Iolaus' unconscious thrashings from moving his body under Aesclepius' hands. Lilith was as white as the sheets, but she held her hands steady, despite the ever increasingly painful ache cramping her arms, numbing her hands and fingers. The only sounds in the room were Iolaus' harsh breathing and pitiful moans.

Aesclepius reached back into the wound, found the tear in the muscle between the chest and the abdomen...the diaphragm...the muscle which pumped, expanding and contracting the lungs as a person breathed. Reaching back to the table, he lifted long, thin clay tubes and placed them close to hand on the bed. Continuing his patient exploration, his fingers found the tear in the lung, examined it with a delicate touch. It was not large...and, with luck, it would heal if the bleeding could be stopped, and the blood in the chest cavity could be drained away. Carefully, Aesclepius inserted the longest, thinnest clay tube, packing thin strips of linen around it to hold it steady and secure. Inserting a second, somewhat thicker tube, Aesclepius continued to pack more linen into the abdominal cavity, to staunch and clot the blood there. Then, taking the retractors from Lilith's hands, he removed them, setting them aside. He grasped a fine bone needle, already strung with the finest of fishing line, and loosely stitched the wound closed around the tips of the clay pipes. Then he turned, drenching yet another clean strip of linen with wine from a flask he carried in his bag. Placing the linen over the wound, he reached again for a thick wad, pressing it firmly down, while he bound it in place with a long strip of cloth.

Standing back, he turned and plunged his hands into the still warm water, washing the blood from his hands and arms. Not yet done, he turned to the others, "Hercules," he called, "you can come back now, and support Iolaus just as you were doing when I arrived...he may yet drown in his own blood if he is not keep in a semi upright position. Lilith, I'll need a pot of boiling water...with these herbs soaking in it." He handed a small packet to her, saying softly as she turned to go, "You did well...very well. Thank you."

Lilith bobbed her head a little, embarrassed but pleased with the praise. She had done little enough, but it had been painful...there was scarcely any feeling in her arms below her elbows. She turned and hurried from the room, intent upon her next task.

Aesclepius had bent to retrieve the discarded spleen, laying it into the basin, again rinsing his hands as he did so. Turning, he handed the basin to Jason. "Take this, and bury it someplace where animals will not get it." Aesclepius knew the ruined organ was just meat, but his reverence for the human body, and all of it's parts, caused him to take great care that what he removed would not be desecrated further. He nodded at both the men, "You did well, holding him still and steady....I am grateful for your help." Jason nodded his acknowledgement of the thanks, as he took the basin from Aesclepius' hands, and eyes averted from it's contents, he left the room.

Finally, Aesclepius turned to Iphicles. "Your brother, Hercules, is in shock and in danger of collapse, even if he won't admit it. Bring him some clear soup, plain bread and watered wine...and make sure he eats it." As Iphicles turned to do his bidding, Aesclepius gazed at Hercules for a moment, but turned without speaking further, to stare out of the window, while he waited for Lilith to return with the herbal tea...herbs to fight infection as well as to fight pain.

Behind him, he heard Hercules murmur, his voice rough and thick with emotion, "_Thank you._" Nodding, to signal he had heard, he did not turn, but softly replied, "Your friend is strong, Hercules...he should have been dead by now with such terrible injuries...and, he's not out of the woods yet. We must see what the rest of the day...and the night ahead, bring. If he lives until morning, he will probably be alright..unless of course, an infection sets in and rages out of control, consuming too much of his energy...and then it will be up to him, and his will to survive."

* * *

The day was long, seemingly endless, as the hours dragged by, the minutes measured by the harsh, ragged breathing as Iolaus fought his battle for life. Once Aesclepius had managed to get most of the herbal tea down Iolaus' throat, one slight drop at a time, he had taken himself off to the chamber Lilith had prepared for him, knowing he needed to rest while he could, expecting a crisis in the night. Despite himself, and his determination to remain alert, Hercules drifted off into a restless doze, his back resting against the wall, his arms around Iolaus, holding his friend up, against his chest.

Iphicles, Jason and Lilith came and went silently during the day, taking turns sitting with the men, bringing Herc water, feeding Iolaus more tea, as Aesclepius had instructed. Despite the demands of the children to see Iolaus, the adults would not let them into the room....Iolaus looked terrible, more dead than alive, and seeing him would only frighten the boys further. Instead, Iphicles asked his son to keep the boys occupied, showing them around the Academy, distracting them with games as best he could. Young Iolaus got the boys to talk about themselves, to share how they had come to know their fathers, to describe what their lives had been like and to tell him the details of their kidnapping, while he told them about his experiences. Iolaus made them eat, not much maybe, they were too scared to manage much food, but enough to keep their strength up...he forced himself to eat as well...the food like dust in his mouth.

At first, despite their worry and all that was happening, the younger boys had been in awe of Iolaus...for one thing, he was a lot taller than them. For another, he just seemed...more grown up somehow. He was relaxed and assured in his manner, but interested in them, giving them his full attention. When they finished their story about their own kidnapping, Iolaus turned to Nico. "Would you tell me what life was like on the streets," he asked. "I really admire how you were able to survive...there's a lot I could learn from you."

Nico was caught off guard, surprised how much it meant to him that Iolaus said he admired Nico, could learn from him. Sometimes, Nico felt out of place...awkward in the palace, with the servants...as if he was some kind of imposter, and didn't really deserve to be there. These simple words drew him in, made him welcome...let him know he did belong. "Sure," he said simply, as he told how he had ended up on his own. Orrie listened with wide eyes...Nico had never talked about this stuff before.

The three huddled together in the sunlight, getting to know one another, distracting one another from their mutual grief and worry, forging the first strands of bonds which would bind them together for life.

* * *

It was late afternoon before Iolaus stirred, moving weakly, his fingers picking at the sheet which was lightly draped over him, moaning softly as he moved his head against Herc's chest, rousing Hercules from his light, restless sleep.

"Easy, buddy," Herc murmured, brushing damp curls away from Iolaus' flushed face. Iolaus' skin was warm to the touch. Alarmed, he looked up at Jason, who had been sitting quietly, watching them both as they slept. "He's getting hot, Jason...could you get Aesclepius?"

Jason nodded as he stood and briskly left the room. This was not good...Iolaus was too weak to survive a high fever or the infection the fever fought. In moments, he was back with Aesclepius, who moved directly to Iolaus' side, bending to check his patient...noting the fever, the glazed eyes, and then, removing the dressing, the unhealthy stench and sight of infection in the reddened, puckered skin and greenish discharge. Replacing the dressing momentarily, he turned to Jason. "I'll need a poultice to draw out the poison." Jason left to prepare what was needed.

Aesclepius looked up at Hercules, saw the drawn features, the pallor, and the worry in his eyes. There was no reassurance to give him...no way to know yet, how this was going to end. "This is a battle, Hercules... we must fight this infection until the fever breaks...bathing Iolaus to keep him cool, getting him to take herbal tea, changing poultice after poultice until we draw the poison from his body. I will need your help." Hercules was dimly grateful that, finally, there was something he could do to help his friend, something other than simply hold him, praying for his life.

It was the eve of the winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year, the longest night.

* * *

They waged their war through the rest of the afternoon, through the evening and into the night. Lilith brought a stack of cushions, to place under Iolaus' back and shoulders, to help him remain upright enough to breath. Hercules bathed his friend's body with cool water and soft linen cloths, ceaselessly, frightened when the fever just seemed to climb higher. Aesclepius exchanged one poultice for another, forcing sips of tea into Iolaus as the hours wore on. Candlelight flickered in the dim chamber, casting a glow over the men, reflecting the rosy glow of the heat that rose from Iolaus' body.

Iolaus had remained restless, moaning softly, his hands moving to rest over the bandages, unconsciously pressing against the pain which assailed him. Finally, long after the sun had set, he blinked, trying to focus on the room around him, found Herc's face, felt his friend's hands moving gently over his body, bathing him.

"Herc," murmured Iolaus, his voice so weak as to be hardly more than a breath of air...but enough to draw Hercules' attention.

Hercules gazed down into his friend's painclouded, fever glazed, eyes, and he brushed Iolaus' damp curls away from his face. "Shhh, don't try to talk," he murmured back.

Iolaus' eyes wandered around the room, realized he was in their chamber, at the Academy. His gaze stopped and rested upon Aesclepius, who had been standing on the far side of the bed, across from Hercules. "Aesclep..." Iolaus mumbled.

"Yes, Iolaus, I'm here..." the physician replied, turning his attention back to the poultice, changing it yet again. Iolaus hissed briefly as the hot dressing pressed against the wound. Aesclepius laid a hand on his shoulder, drawing his attention, "You have a serious infection, Iolaus...we are using poultices to draw it out of the wound...I am going to give you some tea to help fight the pain and fever." Aesclepius turned, poured from the pot into the small mug, then steadied Iolaus' head as he held the mug to his patient's lips with his other hand. Iolaus dutifully drank the bitter mixture, making a face when it was gone. "Uccgghhh," he said, expressing his profound distaste. Aesclepius grinned at him, recognising the warrior's weak attempt at humour. "You never did much care for the taste of medicine, did you, Iolaus?"

"No," croaked his patient. "Tastes...terrible."

"So long as it works," Aesclepius stated briskly, as he turned to set the mug back on the small table beside the bed. Picking up the pot, he turned back to Hercules, "I'll go to prepare more...I'll be back shortly." Herc watched him leave the room before turning his gaze back to Iolaus, all the while continuing his work, bathing his friend's body, trying to alleviate the fever.

"How...bad?" asked Iolaus, keeping his eyes on Herc's face...seeing the deeply etched lines of worry and fatigue, feeling his friend's hands pause a moment, before continuing with their work.

"Bad enough...Aesclepius had to perform surgery earlier...."

"Surgery?" mumbled Iolaus, curious to know what had been done to him.

"Believe me, buddy, you don't want to know the details..." Herc replied, forcing a grin.

"Hurts," Iolaus whispered.

"I know...I'm sorry...." Hercules replied, evading Iolaus' eyes. Despite what anyone said, Hercules was haunted by his guilt...but, Iolaus didn't need to be burdened with it.

But, Iolaus was an old hand at reading his friend. He lifted a hand, laying it on Herc's, stilling the the obsessive bathing of his body. "Not...your fault...."

Herc caught his breath in a kind of a sob, turned to meet Iolaus' concerned gaze, his own eyes blurring, burning with unwanted tears. "Not now, Iolaus...we'll talk about it when you're stronger...." Herc murmured softly, forcing the words past the lump in his throat.

"So...I'm...going...to live?" Iolaus spoke raggedly, between breaths, finding it hard to stay alert.

Hercules laid a hand against Iolaus' cheek. "That's up to you, Iolaus...do you want to live?"

"Yes..." breathed Iolaus, as his eyes closed, and he drifted off.

"Then, you will, my friend..._nothing_ can defeat you now, Iolaus...not if you want to live...." Hercules whispered to his unconscious friend, his heart twisting in his breast, desperately hoping he was right.

The crisis came in the deep of the night, in the hours before the dawn, when spirits are at their lowest ebb. The fever raged, and Iolaus thrashed unconsciously in it's grip. Hercules and Aesclepius worked tirelessly, silently...focused only on their work and the sound of the uneven, ragged breathing. Finally, the fever broke, sweat pouring from Iolaus' body, soaking the sheets around and under him. Herc and Aesclepius changed the linens and the bandages, wiping the sweat from his body with a warm, damp cloth, covering him against the possibility of a chill.

Iolaus' breathing had eased, his colour lost it's unhealthy fevered flush, calming to his natural bronzed colour. His skin was warm to the touch, no longer burning with fever, or chilled with shock. The wound had stopped its fearful draining of greenish discharge, the fluid now passing out of the clay tubes, almost clear, with only a slight pinkish tinge. Aesclepius nodded approvingly as he bandaged the clean dressing tightly over the healing wound. Hercules had watched him anxiously, waiting for his verdict. Looking up into his cousin's eyes, Aesclepius smiled, "I think he's going to be fine, Hercules...Happy Solstice...."

A sob broke from Herc's throat as he slipped to his knees, bracing his elbows on the bed, his crumpled face in his hands. Uncaring of his audience, he wept brokenly in relief and reaction, exhausted, finally able to let the terror, which had driven him on for two days, recede. Aesclepius moved to stand beside Hercules, placing a strong, firm hand on his shoulder, letting the man get it all out of his system. He was surprised Hercules had not broken down before this...he had been strung tighter than a wire, punishing himself with his sense of responsibility and guilt...terrified he would lose Iolaus....holding on, hour after hour, doing all he could to fight for his friend's life. Now, finally, he could let go...needed to let go.

Gradually, the desperate weeping abated. Hercules drew a ragged breath, brushing his hands over his face, and through his hair, brushing away the remnants of his tears. He sniffed, looked up at Aesclepius, sighed when he saw his cousin's understanding expression. "I...I thought he'd...that I'd lose...."

"I know, Hercules....I know. But, you can rest now...Iolaus is going to be just fine. He'll need a couple of weeks to mend, mind you...but...he'll be fine. You can forgive yourself now...." Herc looked up startled...he'd never told Aesclepius what had happened. Seeing his expression, Aesclepius explained, "Iphicles told me what happened...others have told you this was not your fault...but I know you will never believe that. Believe what you will...feel as guilty as you please....just know your friend will live...that you have not killed him."

Hercules swallowed as he looked away, back at Iolaus' face, now relaxed in the repose of a natural sleep. "He would have died, if not for you....I'll never be able to thank you enough for what you have done for him, Aesclepius."

"Ah well, I especially love grateful clients," teased Aesclepius...he was not a particularly humble man...he knew he worked miracles others could not replicate...but, it was science, not magic...and his cures often depended as much upon the will of his patients as they did upon the skill of his hands and the knowledge in his mind. He patted Hercules once more upon the shoulder, then turned to gather up his instruments and to pack his bag, leaving out the packets of herbs for Iolaus' tea. "Make sure he drinks a mug of tea every four hours...and get as much water into him as you can. No food for two days, just a clear broth, and then nothing more than soup or custards for a week. Change the dressing every four hours, and gradually, slowly, begin to draw the clay pipes and the packing out of the wound...it will be painful...so be sure he's had the tea at least an hour before you do this. The packing and pipes should be completely out within three days...you can then stitch the wound more tightly, otherwise, he'll have a terrible scar."

Picking up his bag, Aesclepius turned to the door. "I'll be heading back to my hospital once I've had a couple of hours sleep. One more thing, Hercules, Iolaus needs to know that the purpose of the organ I removed was to help his body fight infections, to build up and sustain the body's immune system....He has lost that now, and will be much more susceptible to infections in the future. Take care that he does not catch any other infection until he has recovered his strength...and you will both need to take particular care to avoid or treat infection vigorously the next time he is wounded." Aesclepius knew there would be a next time...with Iolaus, it was a certainty.

Hercules stood, reached out a hand and took his cousin's arm, drawing him into a tight hug. _"Thank you, Aesclepius....thank you..."_ he whispered.

"You're welcome, Hercules," Aesclepius muttered, the trace of a smile in his voice. "Just...try not to get into so much trouble for a while...Iolaus has too many scars on his body as it is!"

Herc nodded, tried to grin, failed.... "I'll try...but he's a hard man to hold down."

Aesclepius chuckled as he headed out the door. "You can only do your best, Hercules...you can only do your best," his voice trailed behind him, as he softly closed the door.

* * *

The news that Iolaus was recovering was greeting by unbounded joy and celebration...it would be a Happy Solstice after all! Orrie was finally allowed in to visit his father later that morning. Nico and young Iolaus wanted to see their uncle, too, but felt Orrie needed time alone with his dad, so they waited patiently for their turn, in the hall outside the door to his chamber. Just as Orrie entered the room, he turned back, unable to resist saying, "I _told_ you he would be alright!"

Nico gave an exasperated look at young Iolaus, sighing as he said, "He's lucky his Dad's okay...he needs to learn that Iolaus is vulnerable...someday, we might not be so lucky. There has to be a way to get past his endless optimism, without hurting him."

Prince Iolaus shook his head, then grinned as he responded, "I think that's a losing battle, Nico...his father lives and breathes a boundless optimism, refusing to consider the worst, ever. Orrie must have inherited it from him....just like he inherited the blond curls and the blue eyes."

Nico just snorted as he leaned back against the wall to wait for his chance to see Iolaus.

* * *

Orrie walked toward the bed, studying his father's face as he approached. Despite his continued expressed confidence that Iolaus would survive, Orrie had heard the others, understood them, believed them...Nico did not lie to him, and Nico had obviously been afraid Iolaus would die. Orrie's insistance to the contrary was more born from his own fear of losing his Dad, than it was an honest confidence that his Dad wouldn't die...in the secret depths of his heart, Orrie had been terrified...had been denying the fear as much to himself, as to the others. In his own way, in this tendency to bury fears and hurts, to deny them, he was more like his father than anyone yet knew.

Hercules had taken himself off to the window, out of the way, pretending to be fully engrossed by the world outside. He'd considered leaving, but Iolaus was still very weak. If he passed out while Orrie was there, the child would be frightened and Herc did not want him to be alone if that happened.

Iolaus smiled at his son, brushed the boy's curls as soon as he was within reach. "Orrie...I've missed you," he said softly, gesturing to indicate the lad should climb up beside him on the bed.

"I missed you, too," Orrie said in a small voice, as he clambered up beside his father, placing a hand on his Dad's arm. Looking his father full in the eye, Orrie continued, "You scared me."

"I know," murmured Iolaus, drawing his son down into an embrace, holding him tightly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't do it again!" Orrie ordered imperiously, "You get hurt too often, Dad. You have to be more careful!"

Iolaus couldn't help it. He chuckled at the sound of command in the little child's voice. "It's not funny, Dad...I mean it...it's okay to help people...but, you can't keep helping them if you get hurt all the time...you can't help anyone if you're dead."

Iolaus' amusement died as he looked up at Hercules, who had turned from the window at the child's words...words too old, too wise, too calmly spoken, a lesson too painfully learned for a child his age. "Out of the mouths of babes...." whispered Hercules, amazed and yet relieved that Orrie had understood after all, understood his father was not immortal.

Iolaus nodded slightly, as his grip tightened around his son. "You're right, Orrie," he whispered into his son's hair, "you're absolutely right...I'm really sorry I scared you, son...and I'll do my best not to get hurt anymore. I want to be able to keep helping people...but, most of all, I don't ever want to leave you."

Orrie relaxed then, laying quietly on his father's chest, listening to the strong beat of his father's heart. "Happy Solstice, Dad," he said softly.

"Happy Solstice, son," Iolaus responded, his heart filled with happiness and gratitude, to be here, to be able to hold his son in his arms.... "Happy Solstice," he whispered again, a smile gracing his lips as he looked again across the room at Hercules, and saw his friend smile back.

* * *

Later, young Iolaus finally got his chance to see his uncle, to assure himself the man was healing...would be well again. Iolaus smiled at his namesake as the youth walked across the floor toward him, reached out his hand, to take his nephew's hand in his own, to draw him close.

"Gods, lad...it's so good to see you are alright!" Iolaus murmured, his eyes bright with his joy.

Young Iolaus shook his head as he sat down on the bed beside his uncle. "Thanks to you...or I'd still be dead."

"Don't even think it, Iolaus...you've too many years ahead of you...."

Iolaus gazed at his uncle, his love, and worry, clear in his eyes. "I'm sorry," he murmured, "If I hadn't of tried to fight with Andros, maybe this wouldn't have happened...."

Iolaus shook his head as he returned the boy's gaze, "No...your actions had nothing to do with my getting hurt. Iolaus...you were very brave that day....I was...I am..._very proud_ of you."

Young Iolaus bit his lip, blinked away the sudden tears...his uncle would never really understand how much that meant to him. Impulsively, he leaned forward to hug his uncle tightly. "I love you...I was so afraid you were going to die...."

"Shhh...I love you, too, Iolaus...and I'm going to be fine...there's no need for tears." Nevertheless, Iolaus held his nephew tightly in his arms, his own eyes damp, so very glad the boy was alive.

* * *

"Oww, Herc...that hurts!" Iolaus yelled as Hercules drew the last of the packing out of his wound, then reached for the needle to sew the skin together more tightly.

"Yeah, well, this is going to hurt, too...hold still!" Herc muttered, sorry to be inflicting the pain, but there was no avoiding what needed to be done. Iolaus gritted his teeth, but said nothing more until Herc was finished, at which point he let out a long breath as he stared up at the ceiling. Herc bit off the thread, then laid the needle aside, picking up a cloth to wipe the sweat from Iolaus' brow, evidence of the pain he suffered and the control he exerted to suffer it silently. "It's done, Iolaus...the wound is healing cleanly...you'll be able to get up in another day or two."

Iolaus nodded as he continued to bring his breathing under control. "You need to work on your bedside manner, Herc," he muttered, then grinned at his friend to take the sting out of his words.

Hercules grinned back, knowing Iolaus was healing, would soon be completely well. "Hungry?" he asked.

"Always...when can I have more than that pitiful broth?" Iolaus complained.

"Tomorrow...relax while I go and get your soup." Hercules set down the cloth, and turned toward the door.

Iolaus' voice followed him. "Thanks, Herc...for taking such good care of me," his buddy said softly. Hercules paused a moment, but didn't turn. He just nodded shortly, then left the room. Iolaus sighed as the door closed. Dammit...Herc was still feeling guilty. They'd have to talk about this...soon...as soon as he could get out of this bed and they could go somewhere quiet, away from the others.

* * *

It was another three days before Iolaus could persuade Hercules to take him for a short walk away from the building. He'd deliberately chosen a time when he knew the others were out hunting for their evening dinner. The Academy cadets wouldn't return from their holidays for another week yet. They were alone and Iolaus supposed they could have talked inside, but, he wanted to be out in the fresh air and sunlight...and he wanted both of them out of the sickroom, with its reminders and memories of how close it had been.

They made it as far as the bench under the spreading oak tree on the far side of the courtyard, near the stables, across from the exercise hall. Dropping with relief onto the bench, disgusted with his continued weakness, Iolaus looked up at Hercules. "Okay, Herc...it's time for one of our little talks...." Iolaus said lightly, his eyes clear in the bright sun.

Herc looked away, startled...he'd expected this, just not so soon. He shrugged, keeping his eyes averted, as he waited for Iolaus to continue.

"I know you keep blaming yourself for what happened, Hercules...and I wish you'd stop. You were just trying to keep me from killing the bastard...and I would have killed him, too. But, much as I hated him for what he'd done to all of us, and for having just attacked Iolaus, I would have regretted it after...you know I'm not a killer, and you were saving me from myself. It's not your fault he had a knife...not your fault that he wouldn't quit until he'd done his best to kill me."

Hercules shrugged again, rolling his shoulders, pushed a hand through his hair, glanced briefly at Iolaus, then away again. "I know," he finally said. "I just can't seem to get it out of my head...can't seem to forget holding you while he....."

"Let it go, Herc...it's over...I'm fine."

Herc nodded again, saying nothing, still looking troubled.

"There's something else, isn't there?" mused Iolaus.... "something I'm not getting. What's bothering you so much, Herc? Why do you have that haunted look in your eyes almost every time you look at me?"

"It's nothing," mumbled Hercules, "everything...I...she said it was the last time, Iolaus..the last favour...."

"What are you talking about," Iolaus asked, trying to understand Herc's fragmented phrases.

"Artemis...she said all the favours had been paid...no more 'get out of free Elysium' passes, Iolaus...no more second chances..."

"Yeah, well, I've gotten a couple more than I expected already...."

"I know," whispered Hercules, "I know....."

"Herc...I'm sorry...I don't understand...what's wrong?"

Hercules sighed, finally looked into his friend's eyes. "Iolaus...not since Olympus, in Aphrodite's Temple, have you actually died in my arms...come close but....it's different, when...when I know you're....gone. You had stopped breathing back in Sparta, and I thought I had lost you...I know you would have died that night if Athena had not appeared and strengthened you enough to last until we got here...had not somehow managed to transport us here. When you stopped breathing, I thought...I thought it was over...that you were gone....And both times in the last year, back when you brought the Rainbow Crystal to 'Dite's Temple on Olympus, and a week ago...it's been because of me....last week, my interference almost cost your life...I held you, helpless, while he..."

"Herc! That's enough! You didn't know...it was an accident....Stop this, before you drive yourself crazy!" Iolaus spoke gently, but with firmness. Reaching up, he grasped his friend's arm, pulling him down to sit beside him on the bench. "I'm here, Herc...I'm not dead....it's alright.....let it go."

Herc sat silently for a moment, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, his eyes closed, tears seeping from beneath the lids. "I don't know if I can, Iolaus...next time..." he whispered, his voice drifting off, unable to even complete the thought, _'next time, or the time after that...you'll die, I'll lose you...and I'll never get you back....how do I ever learn to live with that?'_

Iolaus looped an arm around Herc's shoulders, drawing him over, to lean against him, unknowingly answering Herc's unspoken thoughts, as much as those he had voiced. "You have to...you can't go on like this." They sat there quietly for a long moment, before Iolaus continued. "So, what's it going to take to get you past this?"

Hercules shook his head. "Iolaus, this isn't like falling off a horse and getting back on it again...it's not that easy! I live in constant fear that someday, you won't survive...and I will lose you forever."

"I know...but...what do you want, Herc? You can't want to split up, not after all this time..."

"_Gods, NO!_" Hercules protested, pulling away from the arm which held him, straightening to look at Iolaus, "I'm not suggesting...."

"And, you know," Iolaus cut him off, "as long as you go off to help people, I'm going with you....and if you stopped, I'd probably go alone....and, much as I'll try to stay in one piece, I just might get a little roughed up from time to time."

"I know," Herc murmured, miserably.

"Then what, Herc? What do you want?"

"_I want you to be immortal!_" Hercules almost shouted.

Iolaus studied his friend's tormented face for a moment, half shook his head as he looked away up into the clear, cloudless sky. "You've said that before, and somehow, Herc....I don't think that's going to happen." Iolaus sighed. He'd wondered, when he'd first came back from the Light, if maybe his penance to serve at Hercules' side would mean he'd live as long as his friend lived. They'd found out in the last few months that that wasn't the case...Iolaus was still very mortal, very vulnerable to injury, and to death.

Then he grinned, impishly, as he turned back to face Hercules, "Unless...do you think all these 'favours' your family gives me, to keep me alive, is their way of giving us the next best thing? I may not be immortal, but, if they don't let me stay dead, well, it's almost as good."

Hercules snorted. "Iolaus, wasn't it you who said we can never trust them, never count on them?"

"Yeah," Iolaus muttered, a trace of disappointment in his voice, that Herc didn't buy the idea, "I guess... I'm not sure I want to keep testing the theory either, that's for sure."

Hercules chuckled dryly, in spite of himself, "Don't even think it...I don't want to go through this again for a very, very long time." Herc paused as he studied Iolaus, pondering the question Iolaus had asked him. What did he want? "Iolaus...in the last few months, things have really changed for us...we have Nico, and Orrie...and a home again, family....maybe, maybe we should just...give up the hero business for a while...at least until the boys are grown....."

Iolaus hid his smile. _'And I'm too old to to do more than wish you luck and wave goodbye when you head out to fight,'_ he thought. Iolaus knew Herc's dream of a safe, secure life was never going to happen, not for either of them. The next time someone called for help, they would go...just as they always had. It was what they did...who they were. But, he also knew Herc needed the dream sometimes, to find some margin of peace from the terrors which haunted him, the guilt he was always too ready to assume. Iolaus nodded, as if he had been thinking about Herc's suggestion, then turned to face his friend, again putting an arm around his shoulder. "Whatever you want, Herc....whatever you want."

Hercules narrowed his eyes as he studied his friend. "That was too easy, Iolaus...you're humouring me."

Iolaus chuckled, "_Well_, maybe just a little...but, I agree, we need to make the boys our first priority....I just think we're a little too young yet to hang up our gauntlets....there's bound to be someone, somewhere, sometime who just has to be dealt with!"

Hercules shook his head. "Iolaus...we need help....I've heard there are courses for people like us...You know the ones...the _"Just Learn to Say No"_ courses the Widow Twankie makes her girls take...we need some balance in our lives."

Iolaus snorted, almost choking on his laughter, pressing a hand against his side as his wound pulled when he laughed, "I don't think those courses are about what you think they're about, big guy...but, yeah, balance is good...let's try for balance."

Herc looped an arm around Iolaus' shoulder, "I'll try if you'll try."

Iolaus grinned at him, "It's a deal, buddy...now, will you let it go...the look in your eyes has been driving me crazy!"

Herc grinned reluctantly in return, then took a deep breath. "Okay, Iolaus...you win...I'll stop worrying about what may happen....and try to take after you, just enjoying the here, the now...what we have."

Iolaus nodded satisfied...it was the best he would get. He knew Herc would never stop worrying about him, worrying about losing him...it was as much a part of Hercules as was his strength of body and character. And, Iolaus could understand it...he'd died so many times in Herc's arms it was a wonder the guy didn't put him on a shelf somewhere, forcing him to stay out of trouble, far away from danger. But, he knew Herc couldn't keep thinking about it all the time, or it would drive him crazy....and keeping Herc happy and sane was part of Iolaus' job, at least as far as he saw it, anyway. He'd gotten Herc to relax a little today...and tomorrow, he'd find a way to make his friend laugh. They'd be okay...and they had the boys to keep them occupied.

"Iolaus, there's just one more thing..." Herc said tentatively.

Iolaus stifled a sigh...damn...now what? Herc was endlessly able to come up with reasons why he should feel guilty or responsible for just about anything which happened under the sun. But, he needn't have worried...it was not guilt which was on Hercules' mind, but a need to have something done, which he couldn't do.

Reaching into his shirt, Hercules drew forth the bone dagger. Iolaus narrowed his eyes as he looked at it, grateful his blood had been washed from it's blade. "Athena said that only a mortal can destroy this, Iolaus...and then it must be burned. I thought it was right that you should be the one to do what's necessary."

Iolaus cast a quick look around, more than half expecting Ares to show up to do battle for the blade he coveted so much. Neither of them could know that Athena and Artemis had threatened to go to Zeus if Ares took any active measure to obtain the blade from Hercules. Ares wasn't happy about it, not after all his trouble in fueling Andros to find the blade for him, but he was not prepared to risk the wrath of the King of the Gods. There would be other chances, other opportunities for him to gain ascendance in Olympus...he had eternity...he could wait.

Iolaus turned back to Hercules, nodding, as he reached for the dagger. Taking it into his own hand, he said, "Help me to the stables, Herc." Hercules helped Iolaus to his feet, and kept a supportive hand on his buddy's arm as they made their slow way into the pungent shadows of the Academy stables. Iolaus led the way to the back, where the blacksmith implements were maintained. Laying the blade upon the anvil, he picked up a hammer...not the great sledge hammer...he couldn't manage that in his weakened condition, but another, smaller, sturdy implement. Iolaus brought up the hammer, then pounded it down upon the blade, once, twice...and then a third time, before the blade shattered under the impact.

Herc had started a fire in the forge. Once Iolaus was finished, he looked up at his friend. Herc explained in a low voice, "Athena said the remains had to be burned....."

Iolaus nodded and gathered up the shattered fragments, bearing them to the forge and throwing them into the flames. Together, Herc and Iolaus stood watching until the flames had consumed the remnants of the dagger, and had died down to a grey ash. Herc looked over at Iolaus and could see his friend was exhausted. Putting a strong arm around his shoulders, Herc helped him back into the sunlight, and across the courtyard, to the bench, where he helped Iolaus to sit, and rest, before completing the journey back to his chamber.

Iolaus stretched, leaned gingerly back against the bench, closed his eyes, basking in the warmth of the morning sun. It was over...Andros was gone, the dagger destroyed, and he was healing...at last, it was over. "Hey, Herc," he mused.

"Yeah, what?" Herc responded, gazing fondly at his friend.

"How soon do you think we can go fishing?"

Herc just chuckled, leaning back against the bench beside his friend, closing his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the friend by his side. "Soon, Iolaus...soon."

* * *

Meanwhile, during the hunt, Iphicles advised his son that he would not be returning to Sparta after the Solstice break.

"But, Dad...I've been doing alright...they're good people...."

"I'm sure they are, son, but, I don't want you so far away. You've done well there...Leonides said you have won friends and admirers...they will remember you. You've learned to understand them, and you've learned at least some of their unique martial strategies and tactics. There is no need for you to remain there longer."

Iolaus knew when his father's mind was made up, and, to be honest, he was not inclined to argue. He'd missed his home and family...and had no desire to be far from them either. Accepting his father's decision, he nodded, "Okay, Dad...whatever you say!"

Iph grinned at his son...the protest had been token at best, the acquiessence quick. "You're glad not to go back, aren't you?'

Iolaus nodded, "Yeah...don't get me wrong...they treated me well, at least according to their standards... but, the austerity...the casual brutality...I...I can't really explain it, Dad, but, I felt almost as if it was suffocating me slowly. I couldn't be myself with them...could never really relax. I missed home...I missed you."

Iph wrapped an arm around his son's shoulder, pulling him tight to his side. "I missed you, too...." Then, he released his son, leading him through the forest, continuing with the hunt. There was just one concern...Iph wouldn't send Iolaus back to Sparta, but, he knew his son was too old to continue to be taught by a tutor in the palace...there was more he needed to learn about the world, and he needed to spend more time with boys his own age, finding his own identity...choosing his own pathways through life, based on his own beliefs, principles and values, not just following those of his father.

* * *

When they joined up with the others, heading back through the forest to the Academy, carrying the game birds they had caught, Iphicles told Jason and Lilith he had decided Iolaus would not be returning to the Sparta after the Solstice break ended. Jason simply nodded, keeping his thoughts to himself. So, Iph was not going to have his son return to Sparta. Jason was pleased by this...and it gave him an idea to mull over.

* * *

Later, long after dinner, Jason was visiting Iolaus in his room. It was late and the others had long since retired. Iolaus was well enough to feel restless, unable to sleep...he needed to expend some of his pent up energy...and there was something he wanted to say to Jason...so, he had asked him to stay for a while, to keep him company.

Curious, Jason had settled back in his chair, sensing that Iolaus wanted to talk.

"Jase...it's about Orrie...."

Jason's eyebrow arched. 'Yes...?" he encouraged.

"Well, I know you and Lilith have learned Orrie is...."

"Your son?"

"Yeah," Iolaus confirmed. "I know it must have become pretty obvious...."

"Actually, Orrie blurted it out to Lilith, soon after you arrived. They were all too worried about you to bother about keeping secrets...besides, the kids know we're all family."

Iolaus bit his lip. "I'm sorry, Jason...maybe I should have told you long ago...but, I was so afraid for him...I wouldn't even talk about him with Hercules...I couldn't."

"I understand, Iolaus...there's no need for any apologies. Truth is, I'm just very happy for you...and I respect your desire to keep the knowledge private...for a lot of reasons."

Iolaus gazed at Jason, the former King of Corinth...and knew that Jason did fully understand all the many reasons why the knowledge of Orrie's parentage had to remain closely held.

"Thanks, Jason...."

Jason studied Iolaus a moment before continuing, "You know, Iolaus, Orrie worships you, talks about you all the time...and, he's picked up a lot of your mannerisms. I can see that you're also crazy about him, too...you look at him as if he was some kind of miracle."

"He is a kind of miracle, Jason...." Iolaus replied softly, as he thought about what Jason had said. Iolaus had been touched by the way Jason described Orrie's open admiration and affection for him, felt a bubble of happiness deep inside. "Someday, I'll tell you the whole story, Jason...Orrie has only known for the last month or so...it still feels so amazing to me...you're one of my oldest and best friends....I'm glad you and Lilith finally know the truth."

Jason smiled gently at his friend. "I'm glad, too, Iolaus...and, I'm very glad the two of you have each other...." Suddenly serious, Jason reached forward, dropping a hand on Iolaus' knee, "You'll have to take better care of yourself, now, Iolaus...Orrie needs you...and, that's the best part of all....we've come too close to losing you, my friend, far too many times."

Iolaus swallowed, bobbed his head, appreciating the sentiment, but uncomfortable with it. "Yeah, Herc said just about the same thing this morning....I'll be as careful as I can be, Jason..." Iolaus shrugged, a helpless look on his face, "That's the best I can promise...I...I don't really know how to be anything, anyone, other than who I am."

Jason smiled at him. "I know...and that's one of the reasons you're so special to us." Jason realized Iolaus was feeling awkward...and his friend was clearly exhausted by the day. He was a long way from being fully recovered yet. Stretching, Jason covered a yawn. "It's late, Iolaus...best we turn in." He stood and moved toward the door.

"Good night, Jason," Iolaus murmured as his friend departed.

"Good night, my friend," Jason answered softly.

* * *

The next morning, Jason, Iphicles, Hercules and Iolaus sat on the steps in the courtyard, watching the boys at a distance, as they played some kind of game involving imaginary swords and much daring fighting... one or the other pretending to be a dramatically slain villain. Herc and Iolaus both appreciated the time young Iolaus was taking with the younger boys, his evident interest in them, and affection for them.

Gazing at the the boys as they played, Jason decided to try out his idea on Iphicles. "So, you're not sending Iolaus back to Sparta?" Iph nodded, turning to him, knowing Jason wasn't just making an idle comment, wondering what was on Jason's mind. "Well," Jason continued, "he's old enough to be away from home...and should be studying, learning with boys his own age...but, I can see why you'd not want him so far away."

Knowing there was more to come, Iph simply cocked a brown, commenting, "And...?"

"And, well, this Academy is not far from Corinth....I'd like to have him here, Iphicles...."

Herc and Iolaus sat up a little straighter. This was a great idea! Having spent so many good years here themselves, they knew the experience would be good for Iolaus...and, there was no one better to coach a future king than Jason. But, respecting Iphicles' right to decide, they remained silent.

Iph frowned thoughtfully, as he gazed back at the boys. Jason was right, he knew his son would benefit from the experience of learning here, with others from different backgrounds. Certainly, Hercules and Iolaus had benefited from their years here. Finally, nodding, he turned back to Jason. "I'll talk to him about it over the next few days, Jason...he could come back early in the new term, or," his gaze shifting to Hercules, a twinkle starting to show, "he could wait, and come with Nico next year."

Hercules sat up at that. Nico...at the Academy...so soon? But, yes, he was only a year younger than Iolaus...and next year he would be old enough. Gods...he hadn't thought of Nico going anywhere that soon.

"Yes," Jason continued, "and, then, in what, four years? young Orrie can come as well...while the other two are still here to show him the ropes."

Iolaus grinned as he looked across the courtyard at the boys. Imagine, their sons, all together at the Academy...it was better than a dream, more than he or Hercules at least, would ever have hoped less than six months ago. Life was an amazing adventure...you just never knew what would happen next!

Jason and Iphicles stood to go back into the building, to discuss the possible arrangements, decide on the details. Iphicles would talk with Iolaus, but he was certain his son would be very happy with the idea of coming here, to the Academy, to study with his grandfather.

Herc looped an arm around his friend's shoulders, as they chuckled, watching the antics of the boys across the yard. "Today, imaginary warlords and monsters...tomorrow, girls...."

Iolaus laughed, "Don't even go there, Herc! I have years before I have to worry about that! Now, you...you will soon need to keep an eye on that young imp...Nico's a heartbreaker if I ever saw one!"

Hercules just laughed in return. "Then, he must take after his Uncle Iolaus...just don't teach him any tricks!"

Iolaus shook his head as he gazed back at Hercules, laughter in his eyes, "I don't know, Herc...I think he deserves to have the benefit of my experience....gods know...you won't be able to teach him much!"

Herc playfully punched Iolaus on the shoulder, as giggling, the smaller man leaned back against the step behind him, closing his eyes to enjoy the warmth of the sun...and all the wonders of his life, but most especially, his friendship with Hercules and the gift of his son.

finis

Disclaimer: Well, this was it, the last episode in the long saga which began with the Rainbow Crystal. Herc, Nico and young Iolaus died once each, Iolaus twice and almost a couple more times. Herc and Iolaus have their sons with them...at least until they go to the Academy...and young Iolaus is a great role model for the two of them. All the 'get out of Elysium free' passes have been used up, and Athena has paid her debt. It's time to turn to other stories...I'm not sure when or if I will write more about the boys...but, I hope you've enjoyed getting to know them.


End file.
